Steele Bound
by RSteele82
Summary: (Steele With A Twist Series) Let the games begin. Revamp of Bonds of Steele. Thanks to the antics of Norman Keyes, the INS is threatening to deport Remington. The risky plan devised to solve Steele's conundrum is threatened when she can't resist tackling a new case.
1. Scene 1

_**Steele With a Twist Series**_

 _ **It's time to UN-suspend what was presented to us a 'reality' in Season 5. How many of you believe, given the intimacy and hard-worked-on honesty of Season 4 that Remington would have turned to a hooker to solve his INS issues? Let's see a show of hands. What? No one?! After all my years of living in the Remington Steele world, that is what I have found the consensus to be. How many of you believe that Laura would have engaged with an open flirtation with Roselli (blech, yuck, ugh) while going on incessantly about a honeymoon, nonetheless? C'mon, let's see a show of hands. No one again? That also seems to be the consensus.**_

 _ **Think of this series as a challenge. The argument, for Roselli at least, was the producers were forced to add Jack Scalia as a cast member and the only plausible storyline was to create a 'triangle'. Thus, we the viewers are forced to set aside what Canon tells us about our favorite characters and to just 'buy' what we were 'sold.' After all, there was no choice, right? Wrong.**_ _ **In this series, we are going to stick with the scripts except for three little details: 1. The hooker/marriage storyline is gone, yet the comedy of errors from Bonds of Steele remains; 2. Roselli (gag, vomit, cough) exists but he is no means competition for Laura's affections; and, 3. We stick to what Canon tells us about these characters we know and love.**_

 _ **Could a truly enjoyable Season 4 finale, and Season 5 have been achieved? I guess we'll find out.**_

 _ **For the most pleasurable reading, the stories in the series should be read in order:**_

 _ **Steele Bound – Revamp of Bonds of Steele (Season 4 Finale)**_

 _ **Steele Defying the Odds Pt 1 – Revamp of The Steele Who Wouldn't Die Pt 1 (Season 5, Ep 1)**_

 _ **Steele Defying the Odds Pt 2 - Revamp of The Steele Who Wouldn't Die Pt 2**_ _ **(Season 5, Ep 2)**_

 _ **Author Note: I do not own these characters. I only write their stories to keep them alive.**_

* * *

Scene 1

In the limo, Remington Steele – the former thief and conman with five passports to his name – glanced nervously at his watch when the car phone began to ring, tearing him from his thoughts. With a sigh, he reached for the annoying contraption.

"Steele here," he greeted in his customary manner.

"I'm afraid we're going to have to push back our appointment a bit, Mr. Steele," Laura Holt, business partner and love interest informed him. "We have a client who needs our immediate help."

"Need I remind you, Miss Holt, we've a rather pressing engagement of our own to attend to? One with life altering implications?" he asked.

"I'm afraid our new client's problem has an urgent expiration date. We'll just have to push everything back an hour. I need you at UNIDAC in fifteen," she informed him in that no nonsense way of hers.

"Splendid. I'll see you then," he sulked. Without bothering to bid her adieu, he hung up the phone. "UNIDAC, Fred, and don't spare the rubber."

Planting his elbow on the door, he rested his chin against a fisted hand, and stared petulantly out the window wondering if there would ever come a day when Laura Holt would put him and their personal relationship first.


	2. Scene 2

Scene 2

As the minute hand reached twelve and the clock chimed the nine o'clock hour, the halls of UNIDAC, eerily vacant only minutes before, came vibrantly to life. A young man from the mailroom stopped at the desk of an attractive if skittish blonde woman seated in the middle of a large secretarial pool and dropped the day's mail unceremoniously upon her desk before moving on. Startled by the sudden ringing of the phone on her desk, the young woman snatched up the receiver.

"Mr. Burnett's office," she greeted. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Burnett will have to cancel today…Thursday?" She nervously eyed an office door. "Let me check…" She counted to three before speaking again. "Thursday would be fine. Goodbye."

"Alessandra Henry?" Remington asked as he and Laura approached her desk side-by-side from behind. Startled again, she turned around quickly. "Remington Steele. My associate, Laura Holt." Relief washed over the woman's countenance.

"Oh!" She bolted out of her seat. "Thank God."

"You said it was urgent?" Laura reminded her.

"Um, right this way," Alessandra instructed, walking briskly to the door she'd been staring at less than a minute before. Laura and Remington exchanged a look as the young woman opened the door to the office and led them inside, closing the door firmly behind them. The pair of detectives stared agog at a man seated in a chair, slumped over his desk, a knife protruding from his back.

"I'd say urgent was an apt description," Remington remarked. Laura's response was far less blasé.

"Good Lord! The man's—"

"I know," Alessandra interrupted anxiously.

"Why didn't you call the police?" Laura wondered.

"Because I killed him," the young woman blurted out. The confession captured the full attention of the detective duo.

"What?" Remington asked, disbelievingly. Why would the woman kill the man and then call them? Did she expect them to help her get rid of the body? Never would you see such a convoluted plot in a movie, he mused.

"I mean, I mean, I mean…" she stuttered, "It looks like I killed him! That's my letter opener."

"Uh-huh." In his mind, he'd already closed the case and was wondering how long it would be before he and Laura could get the day back on track.

"And look," she continued, clearly panicked, indicating the computer monitor.

"Okay," Remington drawled, doubtfully, clearly humoring the woman. An equally dubious Laura followed as well. Alessandra turned the monitor towards to the detectives so it could be clearly seen. "'Dear Alessandra,'" he read aloud, "'I'm going back to my wife. I don't want to fight about it anymore. David.'" He resisted the urge to openly scoff, instead muttering another, "Uh-huh." The distraught woman stabbed at the delete key on the keyboard repeatedly.

"I can't delete it," she told them, veering towards panic. "It's locked in the main computer somehow."

"Look, slow down," Laura advised trying to calm the situation, ignoring Remington when he displayed a bit of anxiety of his own as he glanced at his watch. "Were you and Burnett having an affair?"

"No!" Alessandra exclaimed, appalled."There were rumors, but it's not true. He had a bad marriage, and – I was someone to talk to. A friend."

"Oh," Remington remarked, while looking towards the door.

"Oh, come on! Does he look like my type?" she demanded, insulted.

"Well, it's hard to tell from this angle," Remington cracked. Laura lips thinned and she shot him a quelling look and turned to address Alessandra.

"Go on."

"Last night, Dave called and said something strange was going on here. He wanted to meet early and talk about it. I came in, and there he was," she gesticulated with a hand, "… skewered."

"Excuse us just a moment, will you?" Remington interrupted. Enough was enough and as far as he concerned her story had moved to unbelievable to the bad plot of a movie. All he had to do now was to convince Laura, so they could walk away from this fiasco and attend to more important: Him, and ultimately this partnership of theirs. "Um, _They Won't Believe Me,"_ he shared in an undertone.

"Who won't?" Laura asked, clearly baffled.

"Robert Young, Susan Hayward, RKO, 1947. Young tries to disguise his girlfriend's death—"

"You think she's lying?" she wondered, cutting to the chase. Remington eyed Burnett's body.

"Well, in Robert Young's case—"

"If I were the killer," she interrupted, "I don't think I'd hire a pair of hot shot detectives to investigate—"

"There's no harm in provoking a conversation, Laura," he cut in this time, while straightening his tie nervously. How could he disagree? Hadn't he been thinking much the same only a minute ago?

"Well, thank you, Phil Donahue. May we continue?" she indicated Alessandra, sarcasm dripping from her words. Irritation flashed through him.

"Sure, go ahead," he agreed, stifling his reaction.

"Thank you." She turned back around to consider Alessandra. "Alessandra, do you know what your boss means when he said something strange was going on?"

"I think this whole place is strange," she replied, honestly."I'm just working here until I finish my PhD dissertation on Dostoyevsky." That little nugget caught Remington completely off guard. She seemed much like the many vapid women he'd once chosen to keep company with. A PhD candidate?

"What does your boss—" he stumble, correcting the tense of the question. "What did your boss do?"

"Procurement division, middle level assistant cost accountant."

"Oh," he deadpanned. He'd lost interest somewhere around the word 'middle' when it became apparent the man's occupation hadn't involved intrigue of some sort.

"I was never sure exactly what he did," Alessandra admitted, as Laura examined the body to see if it gave up any clues. Spying something on the floor she stooped down to pick it up: A key with 'G 949' stamped upon it.

"'G 949,'" she read aloud. "It's possible Burnett was trying to hide this from whomever killed him," she hypothesized. Dutifully, Remington took the key from her an examined it.

"Uh huh," he agreed by rote.

"That would be Building G, Room 949," Alessandra clarified, capturing Laura's natural curiosity.

"What goes on there?" she wondered.

"Beats me," Alessandra replied, unhelpfully. "I don't know what goes on down the hall."

"Shall we, Mr. Steele?" Laura suggested. He resigned himself to the futility of trying to sway her from her quest. It was easier to appease her, and hopefully, curiosity assuaged, she'd turn her attentions elsewhere, at least long enough to get the task done.

"Good idea." He turned towards the door with her.

"But what about Dave?" Alessandra asked. Remington opened the office door, peered around the busy work area and then close the door again.

"I'd vote against moving him for now."

"We can't just leave him here," Alessandra insisted, aghast.

"Why not?" Laura inquired with a casual air, then pointed out, "Mr. Burnett's a very busy man." Remington grinned, amused, as he swung the door open for a second time.

"Good to see you, Dave," Remington called out loudly so many a person near might hear. "Take care!"

"Nice meeting you!" Laura added, mimicking the volume of Remington's voice.

"Let's have lunch sometime," Remington contributed a final time, rather enjoying this bit of deception.

Following them out the door, Alessandra closed it behind them.

"I think I'm going to throw up," she muttered, as the phone at her desk began to ring. She metamorphoses back to the scared, jumpy woman she was when they arrived before their eyes. Laura guides her back to her desk

"Just business as usual," she reminded the other woman, forcing a smile onto her face as Alessandra answered the unrelenting ringing phone.

"Mr. Burnett's office… I'm sorry, Mr. Burnett's in conference now. Can we get back to you?" Laura gave her a thumbs up and Remington winked at her.

Alessandra's eyes followed them as they left.


	3. Scene 3

Scene 3

Remington and Laura walked down a corridor in Building G, he consulting plans in his hands as she counted off rooms as they passed.

"G 940, 942," Laura said aloud. He peeked at his watch again, his increasingly anxious state poking at his temper. Irritated the man wouldn't keep his mind on the case at hand, she casually inquired, "Something wrong with your watch?" His eyes narrowed slightly at the intentional barb. Two could play at that game. He gave his wrist a good shake.

"It's running slow, that's all. 947, 948—" He paused when the doors in the corridor ended. "Must be around the corner." He frowned when he read the number on the first door they encountered after turning said corner. "G 901?" Truly puzzled, his mind veered away from his own considerable problems.

"902, 903-" Laura continued, equally perplexed. The soft whirring of a motor caught her attention and she tried to stop a man as he drove down the corridor on a cart. "Excuse me—" It was to no avail, as he just drove past her, patently ignoring them. She tried again, this time stopping a young woman in a lab coat walking down the hall. "Excuse me, but we can't seem to find G 949?"

"That's not my department," the woman clipped. "Try building facilitation." The woman clicked off down the hallway without another word.

"Building Facilitation?" Laura questioned, looking at Remington.

"Sounds almost obscene," he quipped, looking from plans held in hands to the doors, baffled.


	4. Scene 4

Scene 4

Remington and Laura went to Building Facilitation. A man there punched up a floor plan on his computer.

"G 949... G 949…" he muttered. "Yeah! There it is," he announced, pointing to his monitor.

"But that's exactly where we were," Laura informed him, "And there isn't any G 949."

"That's impossible," he dismissed, pointing at the screen. "If the room is here, the room is there."

"Well, perhaps you'd like to come and see for yourself," Remington suggested.

"I can't do that," the man refused. "That's Building Coordination. I'm Building Facilitation." Aggravated, Remington looked to his watch again.

"Could you at least tell us what goes on in this non-existent room?" Laura asked, her impatience mounting. Something caught Remington's eye across the room, and he casually maneuvered himself in that direction. The man grew visibly anxious when the computer beeped again and he viewed the information that popped up on his screen.

"Uh, that information's classified. Red flagged." The inner workings of UNIDAC were becoming increasingly convoluted in Laura's estimation. Never one to give up when facing a brick wall, she plowed ahead.

"Well, who do we—" The question petered off before completely asked when Remington caught her attention from across the room. He discretely held up a book entitled _Computer Access Codes_ , then slipped it into his pocket, and joined her, an accomplished smile on his face. "Whom would we see to get more information?" Laura finished the question, lest they rouse suspicions.

"Who authorized you to make these requests?" the man inquired. She quickly backed off, as Remington's little discovery held the promise of revealing what they needed to know.

"Never mind," she answers. "I'm sure Central Send Com probably gave us the wrong information. Thank you."

With those words, she and Remington left the office and departed UNIDAC for the Agency and the reliable computer that would sing like a canary in Mildred's proficient hands.


	5. Scene 5

Scene 5

Back at Century Towers, Remington and Laura were the lone occupants on in the elevator car as it crept ever upwards towards the eleventh floor. Another glance at his watch left Remington wincing. He'd been so consumed by his worries over the end result intended for the day, that he'd been remiss in remembering an appointment that was central to their plan.

"Ah, damn," he cursed.

"What's the matter?" Laura asked, the rare epitaph drawing her attention from the book of codes he'd swiped.

"Oh, I should have been at the doctor's office a half hour ago," he answered, not bothering to conceal his annoyance. They'd had not a single case on the books when they'd devised this little plan of theirs, and the day should have gone off without a hitch. Now, he was slowly watching everything fall apart before his very eyes, all because Laura was incapable of putting anything but the Agency first.

"Doctor's office?" she asked, absently. Fully vexed now, he stabbed at the emergency stop button on the elevator, alarms blaring be damned.

"I'm beginning to get the feeling that you're regretting this little plan you suggested and are using this case to wriggle your way out of it." Book still in hand, she crossed her arms, tipped up her chin and glared at him.

"I hardly think your procrastination is indicative of _my…_ " she emphasized the word "…trying to wriggle out of anything."

"My procrastination?" he repeated, insulted. "Need I remind you, it's been barely more than twenty-four hours since you suggested this course of action."

"I've had my results since yesterday at close of business," she pointed out. He rubbed a frustrated hand over his mouth. It had taken an act of God – and a great deal of charming a certain receptionist - to get an appointment as quickly as he had. Dropping his hand, he closed in on her. Bracing himself against a hand pressed to the elevator wall, he effectively trapped her between the wall and his body. He peered down at her intently.

"If you want out, I'm sure with a little financial incentive on my part, I could easily find someone else willing to do the deed," he suggested, calling her on his suspicions. Her lips thinned at the implications.

"It was my plan," she reminded him, ducking beneath his arm to release the emergency hold. "Go to your appointment. I'm sure I can handle things on my own until you get back." The elevator doors slid open and she stepped out, oblivious to the concerned looks cast towards the elevator car by a pair of men who'd been waiting on it and had heard the alarm.

"Nothing to worry about," Remington assured. "Just bumped a button inadvertently." With relieved looks the two other men joined him, and the doors closed, the elevator taking the trio of occupants downward.

* * *

Laura stepped through the Agency doors to find Mildred at her desk, fanning the air with a fistful of files.

"Morning, Mildred," Laura greeted, then instantly shriveled her nose at the stench in the office.

"Morning," Mildred replied, frowning. "I told him to put it out," she told the Agency owner, pointing across the room. Laura's temper flared instantly when Norman Keyes stepped into view.

"Norman Keyes, Vigilance Insurance," he announced.

"As though I'd forget," Laura replied, voice frosty. "What can I do for you, Mr. Keyes?"

"Where's Steele?" he asked, in turn.

"Out," she clipped the word.

"I can see that," he replied, in a tone suggesting she was daft. "When will be back?"

"Look, Keyes, we're right in the middle of a case, so if you don't—"

"I understand, but I wanted to check in, see if anything… new… had come up." The cackle that followed confirmed all that she and Remington had suspected. Her temper threatened to explode, and she forced a cool mask of implacability onto her face.

"I'm sure if it had, you'd know as well as us," she answered, purposefully alluding to the new contract between Vigilance Insurance and the Remington Steele Agency, that placed the Agency in charge of overseeing all insurance recovery efforts for the foreseeable future. Not for the first time, she kicked herself in the shin for agreeing to that contract with Vigilance. Remington had been adamantly opposed, certain it would send the pugnacious Keyes into a tizzy. She'd dismissed those concerns, dazzled by the income the contract would guarantee the Agency, as well as the boost it would give the Agency's reputation.

 _And look what's happened_ , she silently lamented.

"When you see him, honey, will you give Steele a message for me? You can run, but you can't hide," he sneered.

At a loss for words, Laura pursed her lips and blew, as though blowing away the smoke from his cigar. Keyes cackled his evil laugh then walked to the door and left the Agency, leaving Mildred and Laura alone.

"That guy should be checked for rabies," Mildred commented. "What do you think that was all about?"

"I have no idea," Laura prevaricated. She held up the book Remington had lifted. "Right now, we have more immediate problems to deal with." She leaned against the desk. "There's a dead man sitting in an office at the Unidac Corporation. The secret to his murder is somehow connected to Room G 949. We need to access their computer and find out what goes on in that room." Mildred grinned, widely and held out her hand for the book.

"The computer system hasn't been built that can contain Krebs," she boasted, drawing Laura's laughter.

"Great. I'll start checking on my terminal," Laura said, walking to her office. Closing the door behind her, she went to the computer terminal sitting in front of the window, tapped some keys, then stepped to her window, peering out and downward. She watched as Remington slid into the back seat of the waiting limo.

Her face crumpled in remorse.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Alright Steele addicts and fans: Can you tell what scenes have thus far been changed? Feedback on this particular series would be very welcome so I can gauge reception. Several were very excited for me to do this, and I want to make certain it is hitting the right notes.**_


	6. Scene 6

Scene 6

"Pay dirt!" Mildred chortled from her desk in the Agency's reception area.

The excited exclamation had been loud enough to seep through Laura's closed office door to her ears where she stood at the computer, still trying to coax anything of assistance from the 'blasted contraption', as Remington often referred to it. _Well, at least Mildred's getting somewhere_ , she groused to herself. With that thought in mind, she crossed her office, swung open the door and stepped into the reception area.

"Room G 949 has been assigned to something called Project Omega," Mildred announced, proudly. Laura crossed to the Agency's invaluable associate and leaned on her desk.

"What's Project Omega?" Mildred shrugged in answer.

"I don't know." Picking up the code book, she peered at it, typed something into the computer, then frowned. "This could take a little while longer." Her eyes widened when Laura disappeared back into her office, without another word, but understanding dawned when she reemerged with purse in hand.

"Tell Mr. Steele I'll be at UNIDAC," Laura instructed. Her brows furrowed as she recalled he'd been put out with her earlier. "If he's interested," she added the dejected afterthought.

Mildred watched as the younger woman departed then mumbled under her breath…

"I don't know what's gotten into you and Mr. Steele this time, but something has."


	7. Scene 7

Scene 7

Laura strode through the UNIDAC secretarial pool for the second time on the day.

"I have an eleven o'clock with Mr. Burnett," she announced to Alessandra, with a pointed look. The blonde gave her a confused look… then it clicked.

"Mr. Burnett's been expecting you," Alessandra replied loudly as she stood. "Right this way."

Inside the office, the two woman took a seat on the sofa.

"Where's Mr. Steele?" Alessandra wondered.

"Like Mr. Burnett, in another place," she said, with some bitterness. On her drive over UNIDAC she'd moved on from remorse to irritation. Sure, she'd been focused on the case, but she'd given him no reason to believe she wasn't going to keep her word. She was Laura Holt, for heaven's sake: She _always_ kept her promises. If he was going to doubt her, there was nothing _she_ could do about that. Frankly, it made her more than a little angry. Who was he to question her? Wasn't she the same woman who'd placed life, limb and Agency on the line time and time again for him? With a mental shake of her head, she dismissed the again mounting anger, and with a smile leaned in towards Alessandra. "How are you doing, Alessandra?"

"Every time people pass by it's like Edgar Allen Poe's _The Telltale Heart_ ," she shared, anxiously. "I think they know what's going on and I want to scream. Seven years of advanced study in literature down the drain. I haven't even taken my orals yet," she lamented.

"Look, all you have to do is keep people believing in a man who isn't really there," Laura advised, then unable to resist taking a dig at the ever-reliable Mr. Steele added, "I've done it for four years. You can do it for one day." At the clearly confused look on the client's face, Laura gave herself a mental kick in the shin. It was one thing to be angry, quite another to be foolish and make open references to the once mythical Remington Steele.

"What are you talking about?" Alessandra questioned. Laura gave her a smile that was meant to be lighthearted.

"We'll laugh about it over coffee sometime," she said in a manner meant to imply the current events with Mr. Burnett. "Right now, I need you to keep your head." _Wise words for yourself as well, Holt._ "Tell me where UNIDAC would keep personnel files on a red-flagged project called 'Omega."


	8. Scene 8

Scene 8

Laura, donned in a white lab coat and wearing the red glasses she'd once used to seduce a certain professor, clipped through the door of a glass fronted file room. A nameplate on the desk of the man in front of her dubbed him 'Personnel Supervisor.' Removing his glasses, the man frowned up at Laura.

"Yes?" he asked in a tone that suggested her mere presence was bothersome.

"Laura Holt," she replied in a cool, bureaucratic tone, "QRS division, Level Seven, Procurement and Applications. Background checks for PBY-14." She prayed the dribble she'd just recited was in keeping with UNIDAC's ostentatious and confusing titles and departments.

"Right." The man frowned at her, seemed uncertain, then reached under his desk and pushed a button. A buzzer on the file room door sounded, indicating he'd given her access.

With a mental pat on her back, she strode through the doors, wandering through the rows of shelves. In keeping with her cover, she pulled a file off one of the shelves then turned the corner where she encountered a door with a sign signifying 'Red Flag Projects – Authorized Personnel Only.' A quick look at the lock on the door confirmed her lock picking kit would be all the authorization required. In no time at all, she'd picked the lock and slipped inside the room unseen.

Rummaging through the room, a file cabinet gave up a file entitled 'The Omega Project.' Her smug sense of accomplishment was quickly replaced by frustration when the folders within the file were empty.

"What are you doing in here!?" a voice demanded from behind. She startled but quickly recovered.

"That is an excellent question," she replied in a no nonsense voice, turning to face the Personnel Supervisor. "How can I, wearing bogus ID," she flicked the ID badge pinned to the lapel of her lab coat, "Get my hands on a red flagged project without being challenged?" Returning the empty file to the cabinet, she shut it firmly. "You got an answer, mister?" she challenged, continuing the charade.

"Well… I… Who are you?" The man was at a complete loss.

"Security," she quickly retorted, while opening the door to the secured room, "And you're going on report."

"I didn't know," he insisted in a pleading tone. "I thought that?"

"Thought what?" she snapped. He backtracked, not sure what he thought, and tried another approach.

"My record is spotless," he informed her, with the hint of a whine.

"I'll let it go as a warning… this time," she let him off the hook, "But you'd better straighten up and tighten up, Mister!"

"You can count on it," he vowed, both nervously and gratefully.

Laura left the room, and approached the elevator just as the doors are slid open. She shared a professional nod of acknowledgment with the woman that stepped. As the doors to the elevator closed, harboring her safely behind them, she was unaware of the woman and supervisor speaking and their pointed looks towards the elevator beyond.


	9. Scene 9

Scene 9

When Laura exited the elevator she believed she was in the clear, and was thereby stunned to hear her name being called over the intercoms installed throughout the hallway.

 _Laura Holt, report to T Section, Room 405._

She frowned as the message repeated itself.

 _Laura Holt, report to T Section, Room 405._

Unwilling to risk that Alessandra had found herself in trouble and needed her help, Laura went in search of the room. Finding it, she ducked inside. The door slammed behind her, trapping her in the pitch dark, locked room.

"Hey!" she yelled as she banged on the door. "There's somebody in here!"

It was a hopeful sign when the room flooded with light. She peered about, curiously. It appeared she was a wind tunnel of some type. A model aircraft was perched on a stand in the middle of the room while a massive turbine had been installed into the far wall.

Suddenly, the blades of the turbine begin to spin and smoke filled the room. The blades quickly picked up speed, creating a vaccum effect that her slight frame had no defense against.

 _Well, isn't this just peachy._

Desperately, she grabbed the model, clinging to it, the air speed indicator on the turbine announced the blades speed had accelerated to over a hundred miles per hours and continued to climb. With no other choice, she let go of the file she'd been holding, and grasped the model with both hands.

She shivered as the temperature of the room plummetted, and the blades of the turbine continued to accelerate.. one-fifty… two hundred… two-fifty… three hundred miles per hour. She eyed the sharp blades behind her – the unguarded blades that promised to cut her to ribbons should her precarious grip on the model fail before help arrived.


	10. Scene 10

**_A/N: So, true confession time. I cannot keep writing these dry, from the script only scenes. It is one thing when you are watching the show, seeing the expressions, etc and quite another when you are simply left guessing. Given it has been my contention straight along that from Bonds forward, the show lacked depth, emotion, while offering butchered characterizations, I would be doing these episodes no better service by writing them... yawn. So from this point forward, while we will follow the script - except when we don't - I'll be writing this just as I would any other story. ~RSteele82_**

* * *

Scene 10

Remington stepped into the building at UNIDAC and headed towards the elevator that would take him upwards to the floor where client and body were located. He'd called Agency from the limousine to check in, after having sufficiently dwelled on his temper and Laura's attitude during the forty-seven-and-a-half minutes he'd waited on his test results.

Married.

They hadn't said the word again since the night, two days previously, when he'd finally realized he could no longer hide his immigration woes from her. He'd tried to solve the problem himself, had even spoken to a lawyer about it, sneaking out of the office ostensibly to enjoy a matinee showing in order to do so. But the irrefutable fact was he was, in fact, an illegal immigrant.

It was, after all, emblazoned right there upon the passport Laura had given him only seven months before: Birthplace, Ireland. He couldn't present a visa showing he'd requested permission to be in the state for employment purposes. How could he when he'd arrived in the States as Douglas Quintain pretending to be Ben Pearson, then pretending to be Remington Steele…

Not to mention the little matter of how he'd come to Los Angeles to commit what some might consider a crime, yet he simply considered just dues with a very healthy settlement.

He'd never bothered to be naturalized. How the bloody hell did one get naturalized when one, in truth, did not exist?

He'd attempted the asset to the community angle. While his meritorious service to the community – and even worldwide – might allow him back into the country after the proper waiting period and appropriate request was filed and approved, he'd have to leave the country to be allowed back in.

Seldom had he been so thoroughly boxed in. Keyes had laid his hand on the table and Remington had finally accepted he had no more aces up his sleeve.

And the first thought that had come to mind was: Laura will never forgive me for this. By virtue of a birthplace on a passport and how he'd arrived in her life, he'd placed all that mattered most to her at risk: Her Remington Steele and her Agency.

Then she'd gone and shocked the bloody hell out of him, and as she would when she'd just solved a case, those amber eyes sparkling with accomplishment, had looked at him and said...

"I got it! We'll get married!"

He'd taken great care not to reject the idea out of hand too vociferously.

"Huh?" He'd flipped a hand at her when her words had registered, as he continued to pace the living room. "Jokes, Miss Holt?" he asked, crossly. It seemed to him that a matter as important as his very hide should be taken seriously and not joked away.

"Who's joking?!" she asked, in that same annoying 'I've solved a case' tone of voice. "It solves _everything_ ," she congratulated herself for having found the solution, smiling wide while he stumbled to a stop to look at her agog.

"You can't be serious!"

 _Married? Him? Him and Laura? Laura and him?_

"Why not?" she questioned, still smiling."People do it all the time," she pointed out, matter of fact like.

"Do you know what the cost could be should the INS uncover such a farce?" he challenged.

"What's there to uncover?" she tossed back, favoring the idea the more she thought about it. "Any number of people can provide a sworn statement that they've been witness to our personal relationship over the years. We could pass any questions they might ask to test the validity of our relationship; we know each other's likes and dislikes, hobbies, taste in movies, how we like our cof—"

"What does she do first thing when she wakes, does she steal the covers while she sleeps…" he couldn't help slinging the barb. If he'd intended to ignite her temper, which perhaps he had been, he'd failed miserably. Other than a nearly imperceptible straightening of her back, she'd appeared unaffected.

"Punt," she deadpanned. "We've shared accommodations often enough to answer most questions and to present reasonably vague answers to the rest." Being the masochist he often was when it came to Laura Holt, he couldn't help the crooked smile, the wag of the brow, and suggestive look.

"Of course, we could always…" he tilted his head twice towards the bedroom and pursed his lips "…Discover the answers—" This time there was nothing imperceptible about either the straightening of her back or the look of annoyance upon her face.

"Mr. Steele," she drew out his name, and not in the breathy manner he'd been imagining an instant before. "Focus!"

Then with businesslike efficiency, she ticked off what would need to be done. Blood tests, license, tux for him, an off the rack dress for her that would have to suffice. A church,... No. A chapel that was little more than ornamentation in the city. A minister, of course… of the fake variety. Dig up a witness or two - of no close acquaintance of course, as they neither wanted to give explanations for the sudden, urgent need to plight their trough nor could they risk news of their escapade to make it to the press. Under radar. Only the two of them and the INS would ever know.

While she left his flat feeling accomplished, he'd been left…

Dazed.

Married? Even if only on paper?

His first thought was, of all people, Daniel. The old man would have himself a good laugh over this should he find out about it.

Remington rubbed at his face with both hands while lying in bed on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Oh, there would be endless comments about tying himself to one woman, for being so foolish as to find himself in shackles. Daniel would needle him mercilessly about having found himself at the altar before he'd even bedded the woman. He'd fallen to sleep with visions of Daniel taking far too much joy in pointing out, again and again, little 'Linda' had finally achieved her ultimate goal.

And, as had been the case the first twenty-four hours after he'd somehow become betrothed, when he'd woken the next morning his thoughts and emotions had careened wildly.

She'd won. From the very start she'd made it clear she'd required nothing short of commitment from him before they could truly move forward. He'd never, once, promised her what he'd once been sure he'd never be able to give. But by the time he'd returned from London, he'd gladly given her that commitment in both deeds and words. Still, months later, here they remained: Would be lovers who'd never made it past the line drawn at the bedroom door.

Because of three words she'd determined had to come from his lips before they could succumb to that 'ultimate moment.' His deeds simply were not enough.

Yes, she'd won, never having made a single concession of her own.

He'd arrived at the office in a foul and sullen mood, feeling much like he'd sat at the card table, one of a trio, and two had stacked the cards against him. With leg crossed at the ankles, elbow planted on arm rest of his desk chair, and his chin resting against knuckled fist, he'd fumed, then pouted, then had fumed some more.

Then she'd walked briskly through his office door, and much as it had been the four years previously, his soul had settled and his heart had soared. The smile on his face had been genuine and was reserved solely for her.

What had he been thinking? This was Laura, not Anna, not Felicia, or any other host of women of their ilk that he'd spent time with in the past. She didn't manipulate, she didn't con to get what it was she was after. She had her standards from which she would not be swayed, but she'd never use his personal plight as a tool to get what she desired.

Thus, those careening thoughts and emotions had shifted again.

 _Married? Him and Laura?_

It wasn't as if he hadn't toyed with the notion from time-to-time of late. Hadn't he tested the waters of parenthood when he'd roped Laura into caring for her nieces and nephew overnight? Hadn't he interrogated her, so to speak, about her views on motherhood and career?

The image that pranced through his mind of Laura heavy with his child stirred a longing deep in the pit of his belly…

And had left him at first chuckling, then laughing like a madman, for to see her large with his child would require a certain deed that she'd never allowed them to enjoy.

Thus, his mood had once again soured.

It hadn't been until he'd laid in bed the evening before that he'd managed to wrest control over thoughts and feelings.

It was to be a marriage of convenience only. A piece of paper and a pretend minister. Say a few vows and that is all there would be to it. A business arrangement, like so many others before it. There would be no reception or honeymoon; there would be no merging of their lives and belongings. Their personal life would consider to evolve – or malinger – separate and apart from the farce they were perpetrating for the INS. The only promise being exchanged was their joint vow to keep him here in the States.

It would be nothing, more or less, than a roll they'd carried out time and again before, be it as Bob and Judy Peppler, or Laura and Richard Blaine.

The matter had been resolved, or so he'd believed

Until she'd been so blasé about their plans this morning, even going so far to take on a new case on the day they were to be 'wed.'

Her attitude had chafed, to say the least. Business pure and simple. She had her lists. She'd been checking off items one at a time: Her blood test complete, check; a quickly selected gown that would be delivered to the Agency fully altered by no later than noon, check-check; pick up the license on the way to the chapel, check-check-check. Nothing to it.

He, on the other hand, had discovered he had a bit too much of the Irish Catholic lad in him still to be quite so carefree about the whole affair. A license would bear their names; they would exchange vows at the pulpit – vows that spoke of God, commitment, love and honor - masquerading minister or no. He wasn't quite certain he could simply play the role of husband when a command appearance by the INS dictated him to and not feel as though he were well and truly wed to her at all others.

That she hadn't seemed to struggle for so much as a second, as he had, trying to come to terms with this faux marriage within the confines of their personal relationship… rankled.

But who was he to cast blame in her direction for not being as confused as he, when once again she was saving his proverbial neck? Thus, as he'd walked out of the doctor's office, test results in hand, he'd vowed to play this as he would any other con: with humor and panache.

As he stood at the elevator bank at UNIDAC, he was drawn from his thoughts when the loudspeaker overhead blared.

 _Laura Holt, report to T Section, Room 405._

 _Laura Holt, report to T Section, Room 405._

With a mental shrug, he turned away from the elevators and consulted the map in the lobby. T-Section, Room 405 it would be.


	11. Scene 11

Scene 11

Remington was halfway down the hallway when he heard Laura screaming.

"Somebody shut this thing off!"

"Laura!" he shouted back, as he ran towards the room, then finding the door secured, scrambled to pull his pick kit from an interior pocket of his suit. The whir of some sort of machinery provided no clue of what was beyond that door and he could be running into a trap, but something happening to Laura was not an option. Kneeling down, he eased the pick into the chamber.

Inside the room, Laura's panic escalated. The turbine continued to inch upwards towards four-hundred miles per hour, and her grip on the model plane was slipping.

"Help!" she screamed again.

Outside, hearing the fear in her voice, Remington doubled down on his efforts to disengage the lock, knowing a moment of relief when the latch released and he tugged open the door. In the instant that the door disengaged with the jamb, the turbine fell silent and cold air no longer billowed through the air.

"Laura!" he called to her, as he stormed through the entrance, taking in her wide, panicked eyes and her hair, tangled and sticking up on end from the force of the suction generated by the turbine. Cupping her face in his hands, he gave her a thorough perusal. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she replied, the words drawn out as she caught her breath.

"Mind telling me what's going on?" he half-asked, half-demanded while looking around the room, trying to determine the answer for himself.

"I was paged to this room—"

"So I heard."

"Someone locked me in then turned _that_ on," she indicated the large fan. He looked from her to the blades then back to her again. An imagination fueled by nearly every genre of film ever made quickly visualized what she was suggesting.

"You could have been..." he stumbled as images of her tattered body played on repeat in his head. He sought refuge in a bit of temper of his own. "How many times have you pounded it into my head we don't go in alone, Lau-ra!?" Her lips thinned and she reared up to her full height, her eyes shooting darts at him.

"I didn't exactly have a choice!" she defended, as she stomped towards the door. He stared after her, open mouthed, and it took a few ticks of the second hand to realize she wasn't coming back. Sprinting out the door then down the hallway after her, he called to her stiffened back, "Lau-ra, wait… wait… Lau-ra..."


	12. Scene 12

_**A/N:**_ _ **At last, we return to Steele Bound.**_

* * *

Scene 12

"Listen, buster get that cigar outta my face or I'm gonna use your forehead for an ashtray," Mildred threatened.

Norman Keyes had returned to the Agency, with a lit, smelly cigar in hand and accompanied by a tall, attractive blonde, identified only as Estelle Becker.

Mildred's threat had done little more than amuse the abrasive man, and he laughed, unconcerned.

"That's very good, Mildred." The condescending tone raised her hackles further. "Listen, honey, I just wanna see Steele for a few minutes."

"And I told you," she ground out through thinned lips, "I don't know where he is. Why don't you go play in traffic until he gets back?" The lack of cooperation from the glorified secretary rankled.

"Okay, Krebs, forget it," he shot back. "I was gonna do you a favor and offer you a job with Vigilance Insurance, but I guess after this place folds, you could make it as a stand-up comic. Come on, Estelle," he commands the still silent other woman, and turns towards the door. But Mildred had taken the bait and leaped up from her chair.

"Wait a minute! What do you mean when this place folds?" she demanded to know.

"See you in the bread line, sweetheart," he dismissed, with smug laugh, as he continued walking towards the door. With an apologetic look to a troubled Mildred, the woman followed him from the Agency.

At the elevator, Keyes began laughing, drawing a disapproving look from the woman accompanying him.

"I love this job," he chortled, pleased with himself.

"You're disgusting," Becker criticized.

"What? Because I like seeing justice done?" he challenged.

"You don't care about justice," she accused. "You're just determined to nail Steele."

"Come on, you got me wrong, honey. This isn't personal. I sat on what I knew about Steele for a long time because it didn't affect my job. But when my boss tells me he's putting Remington Steele on retainer and that I'll have to report to that fraud on major cases Baby, that's business." She was unappeased by his argument and unsympathetic.

"It's my job to deal with informants, Keyes, but that doesn't mean I have to like them." She stepped into the empty elevator as the doors slid open.

"Come on, Estelle, don't be naïve," he chastised, following behind her.

As the doors to the car slid closed, the doors to the adjoining elevator opened and Remington and Laura stepped out, the latter clearly displeased with the former.

"I thought you at least might be a little grateful, Laura," he appealed to her, working hard to suppress the smile triggered by a glance in her direction. The normally meticulously groomed Laura's hair was a tangled mess and standing up on end. With the emergency past, he could now find the humor in it. How often does one find their associate having their hair styled by a wind turbine, after all? "I thought it pretty good detective work on my part. Mildred told me you were at Unidac. Alessandra directed me to the file room. While on the elevator, I heard you paged, and decided it would be wise to investigate why, and then I—"

"Alright!' she yelled at him, irritated to no end with him. She'd been beyond grateful when he'd arrived in the nick of time, but in the thirty minutes since, his self-seeking praise and the amused twitches of his lips had gotten under her skin, lighting her temper. If he'd taken matters seriously, if he'd gotten those blood tests already, she wouldn't have found herself in the position that she had. It was his fault – all of it. And he wanted praise? "I'm grateful!" she lied, then sniped, "Satisfied?!" His face fell, and, uncertain, he backed off. She certainly didn't sound grateful, more like she wanted to wring his neck.

"Yeah." Not a stellar response, but it was all he had, as she pushed through the doors of the Agency and he followed.

"Oh, hi, kids," Mildred greeted, barely blinking at Laura's disheveled appearance. "Norman Keyes is looking for you," she informed Remington. He nodded.

"I would have been a lot more grateful if you'd been with me in the first place," Laura accused as he took off his jacket, confirming his suspicions about a certain neck. He nodded and tried to look properly reprimanded. "How was your doctor's appointment?"

"Took a little longer than expected, that's all."

"I'll bet," she retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"What's gotten into you, Laura?" he wondered, rolling up his sleeve to remove a bandage from his arm. He winced as the adhesive pulled at skin and hair alike.

"I could have just used you at Unidac, that's all," she answered, resignedly, focusing her sight on Mildred's desktop. Mildred laughed aloud, as though just seeing the state Laura was in.

"What happened to you, Miss Holt? You look like the Bride of Frankenstein." No laugh was forthcoming from Laura, as she felt every bit of that role at the moment.

"Thanks, Mildred," she comment, wryly while pushing her hair out of her face, only for it to fall right back where it had come from. "Did you find anything more?" she questioned while Remington slipped back on his suit jacket.

"No, just shooting blanks. Listen, Chief, Norman Keyes and some dame named Estelle Becker have been looking for you. Are you in some kind of trouble?" Remington and Laura's eyes flickered to one another

"Of course not, Mildred. I'm a changed man, remember?" he chided teasingly. He sighed at the glower Mildred bestowed upon him. "Keyes is none too happy about having to report to me and is determined to be a nuisance, to what end, I don't know." It was an honest answer, at least. He'd gotten a taste of what Keyes was capable of with all this INS business, was he capable of more?

All three turned their heads in unison when the Agency door swung open and a delivery man into the office.

"Delivery for…" he glanced at the ticket on the pair of garment bags "…A Miss Holt and Mr. Steele." Remington and Laura exchanged glances, her dress and his tux on full display through the clear bags.

"Ah, thank you, my good man," Remington acknowledged, plucking the bags from the man's hands, while Mildred avidly checked out their contents. "Thank you very much, indeed." He dug into his pocket for a tip, hoping to hustle the man from the room as quickly as possible before Mildred's curiosity got the better of her.

"I'll take those," Laura insisted, grabbing the bags from him. The day was going lousy enough without testing that old wives' tale of the groom seeing the dress before the wedding: With their luck, they'd be under arrest for trying to circumvent the U.S. Government.

"Ooh-la-la," Mildred appreciated as she gained her feet and hustled over for a closer look. "Hot date tonight?" she asked with a wag of her hips.

"Benefit dinner." This from Laura.

"Gallery opening." That from Remington.

A pair of narrowed eyes from Mildred.

"It's all the rage now," Remington punted. "The benefit dinner draws in the altruistic crowd, many of whom will hang about afterwards and the opening brings in art lovers and critics alike." Mildred crossed her arms, not buying what they were attempting to sell.

"What's the cause?"

"Pediatric cancer." This from Laura.

"Lost Souls Mission." This from Remington.

Laura's eyes snapped to his face, and her eyes widened, silently demanding he allow her to answer any forthcoming questions.

"Uh-huh. What gallery?"

"The Municipal Gallery," Laura replied with confidence, relieved Remington hadn't contradicted her again. She realized her mistake when Mildred's eyes narrowed further. _Damn and double damn._

"I thought you said it was a gallery opening?" she pressed.

"Mmmm, yes. It's the Municipal's Gallery's opening of their Santa Barbara gallery," Remington quickly stepped in.

"I don't know what the two of you are up to, but you're up to something," Mildred criticized, as she peered closer at the plastic sheathed gown. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were eloping." The comment hit too close to home for comfort, and reminded Laura she was currently annoyed with the groom to be.

"Ha!" she barked a sarcastic laugh as she strode towards his office. "Mr. Steele can't commit to five minutes from now, let alone months or years." She tossed his tux over the back of a chair on the way to her office. In the reception area, Remington's already precarious control over his rioting mood slipped and a muscle in his stiffened jaw twitched.

"And four years from now, Miss Holt would still be considering her options if I did!" he retorted, loudly enough for her to hear.

Her answer came in the form of a slamming door, leaving him drawing a hand through his hair in frustration and Mildred wondering _what_ was going on with the kids.


	13. Scene 13

Scene 13

Remington and Laura had retreated to their corners for the rest of the morning. Neither was particularly proud of some of their words – and deeds – but neither was particularly inclined to apologize for how they'd behaved either. Still, they had their pride – and stubbornness – and both had held their ground, refusing to apologize unless the other made the first overture.

Their case had come to a standstill. Mildred and Laura, after the latter had managed to return her hair to a somewhat respectable state, had continued to plug away at their individual computers searching for something… anything… about Project Omega that might break the case open, while Remington sat in his office brooding. His ears perked up, keenly, when he heard Laura's voice in the reception area.

"Mildred, go to lunch," Laura urged. "Maybe if we take a little time, relax and take our minds off of Project Omega, something will come to us."

"I don't mind—"

"Mildred, I insist," she encouraged with a smile. Frankly, she needed Mildred out of the office, otherwise she and Mr. Steele would face another round of questioning when seen leaving the office midday, gown and tux in hand. "I'm going to do the same after I take care of a couple of errands."

"Well, I didn't bring lunch with me today," Mildred mulled aloud.

"Switch the phones to the answering service and go. I'll lock up when I leave." Mildred didn't need to be told again. Turning off her computer monitor, she opened her lower desk drawer and pulled out her purse.

"Is the Chief going out, too?" she wondered with a glance towards Remington's still closed door.

"Does the man ever _willingly_ miss a meal? Laura deadpanned, earning her a chuckle and the wave of a hand from Mildred.

"I swear, Miss Holt, on days like these when the two of you are going at it I'm not sure if I should scold you, shake you or give you a hug," Mildred shared, then continued on with some of the unsolicited advice she was known to give. "Awww, honey, whatever's going on, work it out. You have a long night ahead of you and you don't want anger killing the mood." An image of Remington's lean form pressed against hers, his skin beneath her hands, and a pair of passion darkened blue eyes skittered through Laura's mind. _Where the hell did that come from?_

"Mildred!" Laura's voice pitched high as she protested what the older woman was suggesting. "Mr. Steele and I are just—"

"Just what?" Mildred asked eagerly. Laura sighed heavily.

"Not that," she answered, resignedly. Mildred's eyes widened when it clicked Laura had thought she meant…

She waved a dismissive hand at the younger woman.

"I meant that benefit-dinner-gallery-opening thing tonight," she corrected, then wagged a finger at Laura. "Although I sure wish the two of you would stop this dance you're always doing and just get to it already!" Laura crossed her arms and looked towards Remington's office.

"You and me both," she muttered.

"Then what's stopping you?" Mildred pressed.

* * *

" _ **What kind of relationship did we have or ever hope to have if every time I turned around, BINGO, you were gone?!"**_

* * *

" _ **A commitment needs words!"**_

* * *

 _ **"It's not you. It's me. He worries about me. Worries, I'll get in too deep, and you'll be gone. And I'll be left, in too deep."**_

* * *

 _ **"You know, it's not just the free ride that keeps this clown around. It's the challenge. I'm probably the only woman he's ever met who didn't tumble right into bed with him."**_

* * *

" _ **You're, uh, you're one of the things that I have to guard against. The part of me that I can't ever allow myself to be. Reckless, indulgent, frivolous . . ."**_

* * *

" _ **I'm terrified of losing myself in you. Of being swallowed up by you until there's no ME anymore!"**_

* * *

 _ **"Do you honestly believe that all the time we've spent together means so little to me, eh?"**_

 _ **"How can I answer that when I have no idea what came before? Or what you're feeling now? You're the one who knows what I'm up against. You have to decide, not me."**_

* * *

" _ **Laura, can you honestly stand there and tell me that you don't want us to be lovers?"**_

" _ **You know I do."**_

* * *

At the rush of memories, she fidgeted and lifted a hand to her throat, fingering it nervously.

"It's… complicated," she offered, miserably.

 _And about to become far more complicated._ After their air clearing blow up at the Freidlich Spa, they'd finally begun making real strides towards the bedroom door. She'd been working hard at believing he'd be there in the morning – and the next and the next and that she wasn't just a challenge.

And she'd begun to believe she might not be the only one in too deep.

But now? Now, she'd be a fraudulent bride. Goosebumps skittered across her skin and she unconsciously rubbed at her arms.

"Awww, honey," Mildred crooned sympathetically, "Everything's complicated. All you can do is decide if something…" she looked pointedly at Remington's office "…or someone is worth taking a chance on, and if so, let the chips fall where they may." She shrugged her shoulders. "Personally, I think you kids know you'd have something great, something really special… and it scares the living hell out of both of you." With that she turned on her heel and wagged her fingers over her shoulder. "I'll see you after lunch."

When she was alone, Laura closed her eyes and rubbed her arms soothingly again when she realized the next time Mildred saw her, she'd be a 'married' woman.


	14. Scene 14

Scene 14

"Remington Steele Agency," Mildred answered the phone in a crisp, authoritative tone.

"I've gotta talk to Mr. Steele," Alessandra tells her frantically.

"Take a number," Mildred tells her, drily.

"Then give me Miss Holt," the client demanded.

"You just missed her. Can I help you?"

"This is Alessandra Henry."

"Oh. You're the girl at Unidac," Mildred recognized. "What's up, honey?"

"The police are here," Alessandra reported, terrified. "What'll I do?"

"Don't panic!" Mildred advised, not sounding all that calm herself...


	15. Scene 15

Scene 15

Laura and Remington emerged from the Los Angeles County Courthouse.

"You're _sure_ there's nothing remotely legal about this license?" she asked, snatching the piece of paper from his hands and perusing the information printed upon it.

"Oh, the license is perfectly legal," he corrected as they descended the flight of stairs in front of the building. "There's no getting around it, I'm afraid. Not only does the INS require the official license, but Ms. Becker has insisted on her presence at our nuptials – proof, if you will, that our marriage is not merely a performance for their benefit." Laura's feet stalled mid-stride.

"Then what are we doing?!" she demanded to know sotto voiced. "We had an agreement that there would be nothing remotely legal about this farce of a marriage!"

"Laura, will you relax?" he requested. "I gave you my word and Remington Steele's word is—"

"His bond," she finished for him, impatiently. "Remington Steele's ploys and ruses and _gambits_ ," she spit out the words, "Also have a nasty habit of turning sideways on him," she pointed out. A pair of fingers laid on the small of her back urged her to continue walking before they drew the attention of the people around them.

"Funny thing about marriage in this fair state of yours," he mused, ignoring the scornful look she cast his way, "But the license itself means nothing unless duly executed by an officiant, the bride and groom and their witness." With a grin, he wagged his head from side-to-side. "In our particular case, neither our officiant nor witness are quite… who… they appear."

"Making the license not worth the paper it's written on," she concluded, accurately, her shoulders sagging with relief.

"Precisely," he confirmed with approval, as they stepped down onto the sidewalk in front of the courthouse. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a…" he purse his lips, amused, "…man of the cloth to make presentable before our nuptials commence." She rolled her eyes at him.

"Make presentable? I'm afraid to ask who you've conjured up," she remarked, drolly. His smile merely widened, making her pulse speed up – and not in a good way. "Who, exactly, have you enlisted to play the part?" she demanded to know, loudly enough to draw the eyes of a pair of passerby. He leaned in and lifted his brows, chuffed with himself. A man could have a bit of fun with his 'bride' on their 'wedding day', couldn't he?

"Weasel." he answered in a short, staccato undertone and with a wicket gleam in his eyes. Her back straightened and she looked at him with horror.

"Have you—" his glance at the looks she'd drawn again had her lowering her voice to a quiet growl "Have you lost your mind?!"

"A little faith in me, Laura, that's all I ask," he feigned, injury, then shook off the affectation and smiled again. "He's a man of many talents, amongst them playing a fair number of roles with nearly as much skill as myself."

"Weasel!" she repeated with disgust. "Are you actually telling me that… that… that… _that slimeball_ , can convince Elaine Becker he's a minister?"

" _With_ aplomb," he assured succinctly, then grimaced. "Really, Laura, one would think if you were someone's cinematic terminology, it would be mine, not Mildred's." His quip caught her off-guard, tickling her. With a laugh, she grinned, pertly.

"Oh, but her references are so… so…" she searched for the right word.

"Offensive?" he suggested.

"So…"

"Crass?" he offered.

"Provocative," she declared, emphatically. His face fell.

"As opposed to my own references which are…?" She'd dinged his ego, and rather than feeling contrite, she felt… smug. Reaching up, she pretended to straighten his tie.

"Plethoric." She patted her hand against his chest, then turned in the direction of her car. They had arrived separately as they both had details to attend to before meeting at the church. Events of the morning had demanded a visit to the hairdresser for Laura. Something told her Becker wouldn't buy a besotted bride showing up for her wedding with her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail.

"Ah, the hairdresser awaits no man?" he quipped, at her departing back.

"One hour, Mr. Steele," she called back over her shoulder.

"With bells on, Miss Holt," he returned with a lift of his hand in goodbye.

 _Then maybe we can finally get our minds back to business,_ she silently hoped, as she walked half a block down to where the Rabbit was parked. Turning, she watched as the Auburn roared away, then stepped down off the curb to round the car to the driver's side.

"Hey!" she protested loudly, when a hand grasped her upper arm. Yanking it away, she spun around to confront her accoster.

"Lyle Andrews, Unidac Security." The tall, slim, forty-something man flipped open a leather case, displaying his credentials. "You've got a lot of explaining to do," he advised. Fury snapped in Laura's eyes.

So do you, mister!"


	16. Scene 16

_**A/N: Oops, forgot to** **publish this last night.**_

* * *

Scene 16

"You have no right to man-handle a private citizen!" Laura protested. Andrews was unimpressed and unrepentant.

"I've got a report here that says you were in high security areas without authorization," he threatened. "Now, that's all I need to sic the FBI on you."

"Then why don't you?" she challenged.

"Because I know your boss's reputation. Because the Feds always find a way to screw things up," he rattled off. "Now, who are you working for?" First the Neanderthal manhandled her and now he was demanding information about their client? _Ha! Fat chance!_

"Sorry," she retorted in a most unapologetic tone.

"Look, you're in trouble, lady. I'm trying to give you a break!" Andrews attempted to persuade. She smiled at him in answer, her eyes cool.

"No dice."

"You're forcing me to call the FBI," he urged. "Now, if you'll just tell me what the case concerns, maybe we can compromise somehow." The odds were, he already knew, so what harm could there be in answering.

"Omega," she replied with a twitch of a brow. The answer gave him pause. Shoving his hands in his pockets, his brows furrowed.

"How do you know about Omega?" Uh-uh. She had questions of her own that she wanted answered.

"What is it?" she asked in turn.

"It's Top Secret. They won't even tell us in security," he answered earnestly.

"Well, somebody at your company found out and was killed for it," Laura clipped out rapidly. "Whoever committed the murder was very smart. He framed the man's secretary. Since then, somebody at Unidac has tried to kill _me._ " Andrews appeared stunned by her revelations.

"How would you like to tell your story to the President of Unidac?" he offered.

"What about the FBI?" she asked with a lift of her hands.

"Forget the FBI," he insisted. "Sounds like we've got a conspiracy on our hands. You wanna expose it or do you wanna stand here being righteously indignant?"

Laura glanced towards the Rabbit then down the street, contemplating the hairdresser currently awaiting her and the client who needed their help. She glanced at her watch. Unidac was under ten minutes away. Counting the trip to and from, then allowing twenty minutes of conversation with the President, she'd be back with time to spare: Plenty of time to pull her hair back in a simple, yet classic, French braid. It would have to do. With a sharp nod of her head, she followed Andrews to his car.


	17. Scene 17

Scene 17

Alessandra sat on the sofa in David Burnett's office, watching as a woman from the personnel division squared off with a member of LAPD's finest.

"Did you actually _see_ a body, ma'am?" the irritated policeman asked.

"Well, no, not exactly," the tall, slim, middle-aged blonde replied, defensively. "But…" she pointed to Alessandra, "She wouldn't let me in. And I thought, well, I was sure that—"

"You didn't see a body," the officer retorted, pointing at her, "But you called in a murder?" The woman grew increasingly frazzled.

"Look, something strange has been going on around here," she insisted. "Burnett's been cancelling appointments all day. No one's seen him. I'm concerned." She scowled at Alessandra and demanded to know, "Where is he?"

"Lunch," Alessandra replied simply. In a remarkable turn of behavior, the nervous Nelly Remington and Laura had initially met was not reduced to a quivering bundle of nerves but presented herself as being calm, cool and collected in the face of being accused of covering up a murder.

"At this time of day?" the other woman asked disbelievingly before turning to look at the officer. "Mr. Burnett _always_ goes to lunch at noon and is back at his desk by twelve-thirty." She looked back at Alessandra. "Lunch _with who_?" she demanded to know, a triumphant note in her voice.

"Well, actually—" Alessandra began, falling silent when Mildred walked through the office doors.

"Me. Krebs, IRS," Mildren announced.

"You just had lunch with Burnett?" the officer queried.

"You got a hearing problem?" Mildred shot back with a scowl.

"Where is he now?" the woman from personnel asked suspiciously.

"At the Blue Parrot tying one on," Mildred informed her, "You his secretary?" Mildred asked Alessandra, who, showing her first sign of panic since the confrontation began, nodded stiffly in answer. "I need Burnett's expense receipts going back five years," she peppered out with bureaucratic efficiency.

"Looks like the guy would have been better off dead," the officer muttered, picking up his hat. "Next time," he tells the woman from personnel, "Make sure there's a body."

The woman glared at Mildred then stormed out of the office behind the cop. Swinging the door shut, Mildred had to swallow the impulse to scream when she came face-to-face with Burnett's body hanging off the coat hook on the back of the door.

"It was the best I could do under the circumstance," Alessandra explained, apologetically. "You want some water?" Mildred swallowed hard, and tried to appear the consummate professional.

"Nah. I see these things all the time," she brushed off. But her body had different ideas than her mind, and when she took a step towards the couch, her knees buckled. Alessandra quickly helped her to the sofa. "I think I'll sit down for a minute, though."

"Who are you?" Alessandra wondered, as she took a seat next to the older woman.

"Krebs. Remington Steele Investigations," Mildred replied in a tone that suggested she was shocked Alessandra didn't know.

"That payroll supervisor called the cops. She must be in on it," Alessandra speculated, then added with a frown, "Whatever _it_ is."

"Right," Mildred agreed. "And they're not going to stop now, whoever they are." She glanced pointedly to the body. "We gotta get that stiff outta here." Alessandra didn't disagree, but there was the little matter of…

"How?" Mildred shrugged, clearly having no idea.

"I'm open to suggestions."

* * *

Mildred pushed a large, white cart through the secretarial pool.

"Sorry, full load. Have to wait for the next cart," she informed a secretary who dared to toss mail in the cart. The next woman who tried the same received a "Sorry, honey, I got a full load. Next cart, okay?"

Slightly further down the corridor, she stopped to rearrange the mail, effectively covering the part of Burnett's body that had peeked out.

Whistling, she continued on, trying to decide where she could stash the cart without anyone finding it for a while.


	18. Scene 18

Scene 18

Laura fidgeted in the front seat of Andrew's sedan. They'd been on the road for fifteen minutes, and it wasn't difficult to assess that wherever they were going, it wasn't to Unidac given the winding road abutting cliffs and ravines on the passenger side of the car. She glanced out at the Pacific.

"I didn't realize Unidac had any ocean property," she commented.

"It's the President's house," Andrews informed her. "He likes to get way from the plant every once in a while. So, uh, what put you on to Burnett in the first place?" Laura stiffened, noticeably, in the seat beside him and she turned her head to stare at him, shellshocked. "That's right," Andrews recalls belatedly, with a wry laugh. "You didn't mention the dead man's name, did you?"

She took a moment to silently berate herself. _Some detective you are, Holt. You walked right into a trap._

Then, before Andrews could digest what was happening and react, Laura flung open the passenger side door and threw herself out of the car. As the car screeched to a halt, she tumbled head-over-heels down the ravine, landing with a bone jarring thud on the sandy beach some hundred feet below. There was no time to count the collection of bruises she'd just acquired. Pushing herself to her feet, she sprinted down the beach putting as much distance as possible between herself and her abductor.

From the road above, Andrews pointed a revolver at her retreating back. Realizing she was too far away and not willing to risk drawing attention to himself, he holstered the gun and stormed back to his car.

* * *

A disheveled Laura stomped out of the elevator on the eleventh floor of Century Towers – no small feat given the missing heel on one of her shoes - drawing a questioning look from a business man who'd been waiting to get on. Unfortunately for him, she was in no mood.

"Got a problem, buddy?" she snapped, not bothering to wait for a response.

Shoving her way through the Agency doors, it never occurred to her that the office was not only unattended, but had been left unsecured. She hobbled into her office, emptied her gym bag on a chair, then, in the bathroom, dumped brush, comb, hairspray and what cosmetics she stored there into the bag. Returning to her office, she tossed her shoes into the bag and zipped it close, then snatched the garment bag containing her wedding dress off the coat rack. Back in the reception area, she opened the bottom drawer of Mildred's desk, where the petty cash box was stored.

She'd managed to hail a cab at the first heavily populated section of the beach where she'd drawn amazed looks from beachgoers and cabbie alike. Frankly, she was amazed the cab driver had permitted her in the car, let alone had driven her back to the office. A promise of a hefty tip had guaranteed to he'd wait downstairs for her as she grabbed what she needed. If she hurried, she'd still make it to the church on time. Stashing a selection of five, tens and twenties into her pocket, she returned the cash box to the drawer. She was halfway out the door when the phone on Mildred's desk began to ring. She looked to the desk then hallway then back to the desk again and uttering an unladylike oath returned to the desk and yanked up the receiver.

"What!?" she barked. Professionalism, be damned. On the other end of the line, Mildred was temporarily rendered silent by the greeting.

"Miss Holt?" she finally ventured.

"Mildred, where are you?" Laura questioned, her frustration apparent.

"At the Unidac mailroom," Mildred whispered.

"What are you doing there?!" Laura demanded to know, voice rising.

"Somebody called the cops on Alessandra. But it's okay. I put the body where it'll be lost for hours, if not days."

"Where's that?" Mildred smiled, proud of herself.

"Priority mail," she deadpanned.

"Mildred, I want you to bring Alessandra back here and wait for me," Laura instructed.

"Where are you going?" Mildred wondered.

"The Little Chapel of Perpetual Happiness," Laura informed her without thinking.

"What are you going there for?" Mildred's open curiosity made Laura realize her gaffe and she quickly scrambled for a cover.

"I'm meeting with a potential witness. I shouldn't be long. Just get Alessandra here… and stay put."

Dropping the receiver in the cradle, she rushed out the door.


	19. Scene 19

Scene 19

After handing the cab driver the address for the Little Chapel of Perpetual Happiness, Laura slumped into the corner of the back seat, the side of her head resting against the window.

"What are you doing?" she hissed at herself, loudly enough for the driver to peek in her direction before deciding she hadn't spoken to him. Turning her head to avoid his prying eyes she allowed herself a few minutes to engage simultaneously in something she did often – self-flagellation – and something she did rarely – enjoyed a good pout that could rival even those of Mr. Steele's.

She'd had to find ways to keep busy the last forty-eight hours, because every time she slowed down and allowed her thoughts to wander, she'd find her palms sweating, pulse racing and heart pounding.

What had she been thinking?

She hadn't been, it was a simple as that.

When he'd disappeared the summer prior, the place he'd filled in her life had been replaced with a black void. _The INS_. _Deportation. Him, gone… again!_

A humming noise had filled her ears and a fog had settled around them.

On the personal side of their relationship, it was the realization of her fears once again: Her, in too deep, and him, leaving. Several times, as he'd haltingly told her of his immigration problem, she'd had to turn her back to him to screw up her face and dig her nails into her palms, to battle back the tears threatening to come. Personally, the news was too much to digest and terrified of embarrassing herself by breaking out into a torrent of tears, she'd subconsciously switched to professional Laura. Icy calm, analytical, there was always a solution, Laura.

Marriage had been the perfectly logical solution. As she'd ticked off the reasons why to him, she'd been impressed by her own rationale. As she rattled off the tasks they'd have to accomplish over the next two days, she'd congratulated herself for her organization. And, when she'd strolled out of his apartment, chin up and smiling, she taken the time to pat herself on the back for once again coming up with a creative, yet solid, plan.

By the time she slid into the seat of the Rabbit, the realization of what she'd done had hit her…

"What did you just do?!"

And leaning her forehead against the steering wheel, breathing hard and asking herself in a horrified whisper…

"Oh, God, what did you just do?"

Sure, they'd played a married couple any number of times. Both Bob and Judy Peppler, a young couple on the verge of divorce and their recent role of Laura and Richard Blaine, the couple seeking relationship counseling, came readily to mind. But you know what they say about art imitating life: Even the married couples they played had a host of issues between them that threatened any chance at a future.

She'd been forthright in her very businesslike approach with her proposal. She had every confidence they'd be able to convince the INS of the legitimacy of their marriage. As she'd laid out to him, in her ever-logical manner, there were more than a handful of prior clients who could attest to their long, ongoing personal relationship and they certainly knew more than enough about one another to answer any questions Becker might direct at them to prove the veracity of their relationship. It had all made perfect sense from a purely professional level. It was just another role they'd play, their longest role, of course, given the two years involved, yet very doable.

If theirs was only a professional relationship, no problem.

But theirs had never been purely a professional relationship.

Some part of her had always known he hadn't given up his pursuit of the Royal Lavulite merely to play a role. He'd returned because he'd felt the same unexplainable connection to her that she had to him when their eyes first met, there, in what was now his office. That sense of… kismet… as he'd say: They'd been meant to meet, they'd been meant to mean something to one another… they'd be meant to leave an indelible imprint upon one each other's lives, good or bad yet remained to be seen, but lasting nonetheless.

Oh, she'd done her best to deny it.

* * *

 _ **"You know, it's not just the free ride that keeps this clown around. It's the challenge. I'm probably the only woman he's ever met who didn't tumble right into bed with him."**_

* * *

A single kiss on a pier a mere four weeks after they'd met, had proved all her denials for naught. As an electric current had coursed through her, she'd yearned to press closer to him, to taste more of him. They'd been interrupted, of course, but she could see by the look on his face, he'd felt it too. _This_ , whatever it was, was bigger than both of them.

No, it had _never_ been purely a professional relationship. Rather, their professional relationship had played out around every frustrating, tantalizing, confusing, exhilarating, explosive moment of their personal one.

It had taken them three years, her ending them and him leaving before they'd admitted the games had to stop. Either they wanted this, whatever it was between them, or they didn't, but if they did it was long past time to commit to commit not only to each other, but to figuring out where they wanted their personal relationship to go… and how to get there. They'd made strides, had stalled in their efforts, then after their magnificent blow up at the Spa, they'd both made purposeful steps towards moving their relationship forward… And towards the bedroom. Given her vow that the next time nature began to take its course she'd allow it continue to its natural fruition, she'd anticipated it would be merely a matter of days before they became lovers in every sense of the word.

And now this.

She'd never doubted she and Remington would be exceptional in bed – well, once she dredged up a little of the old Laura she'd so carefully tucked away. How could they not be? As partners, whether at work or on the dance floor, they'd always performed so fluidly together, easily anticipating the other's next move. That ability to read one another, the chemistry between them, their natural grace and athleticism, and their creativity all but guaranteed the sex would be extraordinary.

Still, it had taken a great deal of work on her part to feel confident she'd be able to separate the physical act of sex from the emotions that took the merging of two bodies to an entirely different level. To have her heart laid bare before Remington when his was not as equally exposed was unthinkable. She'd fought too hard for too long to maintain equal footing with him. She wasn't fooling herself. She knew it would take a great deal of effort on her part to keep what she felt for him carefully tucked away, especially when her hands were on his flesh, his breath heated her skin, his smell surrounded her, and her body sheathed his, dizzying her senses as his kisses already did. It might take an iron fist of control, but she could do it… After all, hadn't she managed to keep him off balance for the last four years?

But this ruse they were preparing to perpetuate with the INS would give rise to a whole host of new complications…

Starting with the fact she wasn't quite sure how to go to the bed with the man she loved while pretending to be married to him.

It would have been different if they'd been lovers for a while before conceiving of and carrying out this hoax, having had the time to find the answer to a very important question: What comes after? How did this new phase in their personal relationship affect their professional relationship? Where did they stand, on a personal level? Had they settled into a casual relationship, sometimes spending the night together… sometimes not… with no commitment beyond the exclusivity they'd honored the past year? Or had becoming lovers – dare she hope – brought a richness and complexity to their relationship, that held the promise of something real and that would endure?

To become lovers after she'd walked down an aisle in a white dress, toward the man she loved… after they'd exchanged vows that spoke of love and commitment… all of it in a chapel and before someone masquerading as a minister? The whole set up smacked of a honeymoon and, she admitted reluctantly, appealed far too much to the romantic in her. Was she capable of simultaneously tamping down her feelings while resisting being drawn in by the allure of that honeymoon? She wasn't sure.

Then there were all those other issues that had assailed her the moment she'd slipped into the driver's seat in the Rabbit on that night. For better or worse, they'd be bound to one another for the next two years. If their personal relationship floundered and failed, they'd still have to continue the ruse of a happily married couple for the INS until that period was up, not to mention dating anyone else would be completely out of question. How would they conceal this faux marriage from her family? There was no chance Frances or Abigail could keep their secret and the idea of Abigail fawning all over her new 'son-in-law' was unpalatable. This faux marriage would provide Remington with endless fodder for teasing her, agitating her.

And, she still had no idea how he felt about her, and, now, maybe never would for the fake marriage between them would have upped the ante in his mind. She had no doubt that he cared for her – a great deal. They were, above all else, friends and partners. But did he love her? Was he _in love_ with her? It was anyone's guess, for as artful as she was at keeping her feelings hidden, a lifetime of playing roles made him far more skilled than she at only allowing people to see what he wished. Now, any admission on his part – if there were something to admit, at all – would be hampered by the lie they were living as the man devoted to freedom and bachelorhood would undoubtedly worry if a profession of his feelings would inspire in her visions of a suburban home complete with picket fence and chubby little babies bouncing on a knee.

He'd won. By virtue of nothing more than his past, by being the man without a name, he'd won. He had two more years to string her along, to toy with her, to decide if he intended to stick around… to tire of this life.

And _that_ infuriated her.

"Miss?!"

The cab driver's raised voice jolted her from her thoughts and she jerked upright to blink at the man.

"We're here," he nodded towards the chapel outside the cab.

Turning her head, she regarded the small church, then drawing in her lips and crossing her arms, she shook her head.

"Keep driving, please…"


	20. Scene 20

Scene 20

Remington spun around when he heard the heavy wood doors of the church swing open, a ready smile on his face. It faltered, slightly, when he watched Elaine Becker step inside and tentatively peer around, then remembering himself he threw open his arms as if displaying the glory of the small chapel.

"Ms. Becker! Welcome, welcome," he greeted effusively, as he approached.

"Mr. Steele," she greeted in turn. Grasping her outstretched hand, he raised it upwards to buss the back. Elaine had to catch herself before she swooned in response to the courtly gesture. It wouldn't take much for a woman to fall for this one, she assessed. It remained to be seen if Miss Holt had. "Is Miss Holt getting ready? I'll need a few minutes privately with each of you prior to the ceremony."

"She's not arrived quite yet, actually." He swirled a finger in the air near his head. "Hairdresser. You know how it is: Must have the perfect hair for the occasion." He bestowed his most charming smile on her. She began to smile in return, then remembered herself. Opening the portfolio she held in her hand, she slipped the pen from its holder.

"Well, then we'll start with you," she announced. "How long have you known Miss Holt?" Laura had anticipated just such a question and it had been decided they'd be just vague enough that the time seemed to correlate with the issuance date of the Agency's license.

"Five or so years now. One might say she was the driving force behind the creation of the Remington Steele Agency." Elaine blinked in surprise.

"That's quite a compliment," she noted.

"Well earned, I assure you," he answered in a tone meant to put Becker further at ease. "The truth is, without Laura Holt there would be no Remington Steele Investigations." Her eyes widened slightly, then with a slight shake of her head, referred to the papers in her file.

"When did you and Miss Holt begin dating?" she asked as she scribbled down his last response. The question gave him pause. He'd never thought of he and Laura in terms of 'dating'. It seemed such a… shallow… descriptor of the dance they'd been doing these last years. He'd been courting her, wining and dining her, romancing her, and God knew he'd been trying to seduce her from the very start. But dating? No, never 'dating'.

"We've been… personally involved since October of eighty-two," he replied, taking her by the elbow and leading her towards a pew. "Shall we have a seat?" She seemed surprised by the courtesy extended.

"Yes, thank you." She settled the portfolio on her lap and scrawled a note. "When was the last time you and Miss Holt dined out?"

"Wednesday evening."

A smile flitted through his eyes at the memory. Laura had been absolutely lovely, her eyes had shone with warmth and she'd been more than receptive to his glancing touches throughout the meal. They'd gone dancing afterwards, their bodies pressed more closely than normal and in a rare display of public affection, had openly caressed and kissed as they'd swayed slowly to the music. It had been the perfect evening and had things gone differently, he'd no doubt they would have at long last become lovers.

Instead, he'd come clean.

"Mr. Steele?" Elaine's voice drew him from his thoughts.

"Sorry, sorry," he apologized. "Woolgathering about my lovely bride-to-be. You were saying?"

"Where did you dine?"

"Chez Rives," he supplied, easily. "Claude, the maitre'd, makes quite the fuss over Laura and she enjoys it – not…" he lifted his brows conspiratorially at Elaine "…that she'd admit as much." She couldn't help her answering smile but quickly checked herself.

"When is Miss Holt's birthday?"

"January twenty-sixth." A date he was unlikely to forget given he'd been forced to nick Laura's wallet in order to ferret out that piece of information.

"The last movie you saw with Miss Holt?" Ahhh, at last a question he could really sink his teeth into.

" _To Catch A Thief,_ Cary Grant, Grace Kelly, Paramount Pictures, 1955," he rattled off. "Grant plays a retired jewel thief out to prove his innocence after a copycat makes it appear he's come out of retirement. Wonderful movie, simply wonderful, filled with just the right mix of mystery, intrigue and romance." Elaine paused in her writing, distracted by his obvious passion for the movie.

"I'll have to catch it on late night television next time it's on," she smiled. "Does Miss Holt enjoy movies as much as yourself?" Remington tugged at his ear.

"She's developed a certain fondness for the cinematic arts thanks to my dedicated tutelage. Why, before I came along and introduced her to the far superior medium of film, her entertainment of choice was… television," he sniffed the word with disdain. She laughed softly, before gathering herself again.

"What is Miss Holt's favorite television show?" she asked, as she recorded more notes on the pad on her lap. He laughed low in his throat.

" _Atomic Man_ , a positively hideo—"

" _Atomic Man?_ " she exclaimed. "Oh, I love _Atomic Man._ He was my hero when I was a little girl. Do you watch it often with Miss Holt?"

"Only when I'm in trouble," he answered dryly. A laugh escaped her lips, then clearing her throat she forced her mind back to business.

"First kiss? Where? When?" Men never answered this question correctly, but she did enjoy watching their discomfort as they tried to come up with an answer that wouldn't find them in hot water.

"October of eighty-two," he rattled off. "We were on a case, undercover as it were, pretending to enjoy a romantic stroll along the pier." Elaine frowned.

"If you were on a case, wouldn't that make it business?"

"To the contrary," he dissented. "The moon was full, the breeze high, the water lapping gently at the pier below us and on my arm was a lovely young woman who had mesmerized me with her intelligence, determination and wit since first we met." His eyes infused with warmth and he touched a pair of fingers to his lips as he recalled the current that had passed between. "I couldn't resist." He gave her a lopsided grin. "Still can't." Elaine squashed the urge to fan herself. Either this guy was an outstanding actor or Miss Holt was one lucky woman.

A cackling laugh filled the air.

"Gotta say, Steele, I never pegged Holt as the type to dip her pen in the company well."

"Mr. Keyes!" Elaine protested, jumping to her feet and scowling at the shorter man as Remington surged to his feet.

"Keyes," Remington growled the warning.

"Just think," Keyes pointed his cigar in Remington's direction, "Once you're booted out on your skinny ass, me and Holt'll be working closely together. I think I might just find out what other services she of—" With a snarl, Remington's hands shot out and grabbed Keyes by collar hauling him forward. As Keyes's arms flailed, Elaine gasped and shove an arm between the two men.

"Mr. Steele!" she shouted, then lowered her tone, "Why don't you see if you can find out what's keeping Miss Holt, while Mr. Keyes and I have a word," she glared at Keyes, "About interfering with a government investigation." Jaw twitching and face painted with fury, Remington's nostrils flared as his eyes darted toward Elaine then back to Keyes. He wanted little more than to plant his fist in the man's face, but getting arrested would certainly put a kink in his plans to avoid deportation. With a growl of frustration, he shoved Keyes away and stalked past the stumbling man.

"If Holt's smartened up, she's realized you ain't worth going to jail for and has gotten as far away from this stunt as she can," Keyes shouted at his back.

Barreling through the doors of the church and quickly descending the stairs to the sidewalk, Remington glanced at his watch while muttering beneath his breath. The ceremony was to start in seventeen minutes. _Cutting it a bit short, isn't she?_ he wondered testily. Apathy was one thing, but this…

By thirteen minutes before the main event, his irritation with his frustrating partner had multiplied ten-fold and the first vestiges of real panic began to set it in as he paced on the sidewalk, craning his neck in hopes of spotting the Rabbit driving towards him down the boulevard. He drew a hand through his hair nervously. Had she left him to fend for himself, in his hour of greatest need? Had she been unable to resist the call of the case? Had she stumbled across a murder, a purse snatcher… a lost puppy?

And at eight minutes before they were to exchange vows – no matter how fraudulent they might be – his anger fizzled, to be replaced with weighty resignation as he recalled their walk along the beach not even two months before.

* * *

" _ **Were you really better of before you met me?"**_

" _ **No. Life was easier, though. Less interesting… but easier."**_

* * *

He drew a hand over his mouth, then, shoulders slumping, shoved his hands into his pockets.

Perhaps Keyes had been right, and she'd finally decided she was better off without him, after all…


	21. Scene 21

Chapter 21

Laying her head against the back of the seat, Laura kneaded her brow with a pair of fingers.

She'd made a mistake. She couldn't _marry_ him, not like _this._

They could get an attorney, one specializing in immigration and work within the system. Surely they could muddle through the six months - maybe a year - it would take to legally bring him back to LA. It wouldn't be the same as last summer. There would be phone calls. She could take a few days here and there and visit him in whatever exotic locale he was passing through at the time.

Imagine, a long weekend in Paris, strolling the Champs-Elysées hand-in-hand and dancing along the Seine. Or… a week in Tahiti, visiting museums by day and making love on the beach by night. It could work. They would make it work.

She sighed heavily, and opening her eyes leaned her head against the window, her shoulders drooping in misery.

It wouldn't work. It wouldn't be enough. She'd discovered last summer just how many voids his absence left in her life. He wouldn't stroll into the office, unapologetically late, his lips tipping upwards in an amused smile, his eyes sparkling with good humor, when she sniped at him about his banker's hours. He wouldn't be there to cajole her into a good mood with his insouciant remarks. He wouldn't be there to coax her into leaving work at the office, so they could enjoy a night of good wine and quite conversation before the fire in his apartment. He wouldn't be there to tempt her with an afternoon at the beach or to play a round of golf followed by lunch at the club. She wouldn't return to her loft of an evening, her clothes carrying the faint scent of his cologne, the taste of him still on her lips and her skin still tingling where an artless caress had landed. She wouldn't fall asleep anticipating their first meeting the next day, and she wouldn't wake wondering what type of fireworks might erupt between them that day.

She straightened slightly in her seat as the cab approached the chapel again. Her eyes fastened on Remington's form long before they neared and stayed with him until he fell from sight when they passed.

She'd learned his tells long ago: The hand he pulled through his hair, the clenched jaw, the chest slightly puffed out in indignation. He was angry with her and that, in turn, was enough to trigger her own temper again.

Who was he to be angry with her? He was the one with the mysterious past that kept showing up unexpectedly, turning their lives upside down. He was the one who'd hidden – for God only knew how long, because she hadn't asked – the INS's arrival in his life. He was the one who'd waited until the eleventh hour to come clean, turning to her to come up with a solution… and had thus far dragged his feet the whole way.

" _You can't be serious!_ "

She crossed her arms and scowled. How many times had his words, their tone, the look on his face, replayed in her mind? By his reaction, you'd have thought she'd asked the man for an organ… a limb… to… to… to… become a eunuch, when she'd _never_ asked him for more than he was willing to give.

* * *

" _ **I'm not planning on cutting a fast tango through your life and I'm not going to stop wanting you but those are the only guarantees I can give you."**_

* * *

How many nights had she spent alone wondering where he was… and with whom? Logically, she had understood that if she wasn't sharing his bed, she had no right to ask him to keep that spot next to him vacant. Hadn't she told him…

* * *

" _ **You're a grown man, and I'm a grown woman."**_

* * *

Sure, he could take from that what he wished, but the point was: She never asked him for anything…

Other than to know where she stood.

She still didn't have the answer to that question, yet she was willing to put her neck and the Agency on the line to save him and he… Well, he was acting as though he'd rather be taken to the gallows.

So, why was she putting herself through this?

Then, when, for the third time, the cab turned down the boulevard where the chapel stood, and her eyes found Remington standing on that sidewalk – noting the hands in his pockets and the slump of his shoulders – she knew the answer:

She'd spent four years watching his back and keeping him safe, as much for herself as for him.

"Stop!" she barked at the cabbie.

Today wouldn't be… couldn't be… the first time she'd failed.


	22. Scene 22

Scene 22

The squeal of brakes drew Remington's attention about twenty-feet down street, and he stood watching with disbelief as Laura climbed out of the taxi, then turned around to retrieve a duffel bag and garment bag.

His relief that Laura hadn't washed her hands of him was as profound as it was brief, when only a pair of thumping heartbeats later, his prior irritation surged. He gobbled up the distance between them with his long strides, relieving her of the duffel bag before she'd even turned around.

"Cutting it a bit close, don't you think?" he asked, irritably. Handing a fistful of cash to the cab driver, she slammed the passenger door. Annoyed with his tone, she stalked past him.

"Funny thing about kidnappers: They don't seem to care about your plans for the afternoon," she snapped. He stumbled, caught himself, then scrambled to catch up to her.

"Kidnapped?" he questioned, aghast. "Laura? Laura, wait!" When she didn't deign to answer, he grabbed her upper arm, halting her midway up the church steps. She paused long enough to shoot him a fury filled look, then shook her arms free and continued her march up the steps.

"We're cutting it a bit close, remember?" she sniped. He winced when she flung his words back at him – words that would have held a bite, given her news. At the top of the stairs, he snared her around the waist and guided her towards and alcove, efficiently trapping her with an outstretched arm braced against the wall.

"They can wait," he said with finality. Her chin tipped upward, her arms crossed and she turned her face away from him, but when it appeared she had no intention of bolting, he shifted to examine her. His heart fumbled as he took in her chipped nails, scraped hands and knees, torn hose, and the leaves and dried grass blades in her hair. He picked leaves from her hair as he struggled for composure. "What happened, Laura?" She appeared to deflate before his eyes. Leaning her back against the wall, she kept her head averted.

"When I got back to the Rabbit, Lyle Andrews, head of UNIDAC security, was waiting for me," she huffed, both embarrassed she'd been so gullible and resenting having to admit as much. She dared a quick peek at him and found a pair of blue eyes studying her closely, undoubtedly reading her every expression. Eyes slanting back to rest on the church doors, she continued, "He convinced me to accompany him to speak with the president of the company." She dared another peek and quickly recognized the clenched jaw for what it was.

"Isn't it you who's forever rasping in my ear that we don't go off alone, Lau-ra?" A bit of peevish tit-for-tat, to be sure, but a point nonetheless. He was left glowering at the back of her head when, with a growl, she ducked beneath his arm and marched towards the doors.

"Much like most of the day," she threw an arm up into the air, "My partner was unavailable!" Yanking open a door, she stormed inside.

"Left," Remington clipped at her back, directing her towards the anteroom where she could dress. Forcing a fake smile onto his face, he waved to Elaine, pointed towards Laura, then with a series of gestures, indicated they'd be out in only a few minutes. "I gather from your appearance, there's more to this tale." Laura flung open the door to the room he'd indicated and stormed inside.

"I decided it was the wiser of my choices for Andrews and I to part company, so I jumped out," she supplied briskly. Tossing the garment bag over the arm of a dilapidated couch, she took the duffel bag from him and dropped it on a nearby table.

"You jumped…" She paused, considered for a moment, then shrugged.

"Well, dove," she conceded, her temper beginning to cool. Remington's heart lodged somewhere in the vicinity of his throat as the image of her diving from a car.

"Dove…"

"The cliff helped break the fall," she added casually, then watched his eyes widen and his Adam's apple bob up and down. The man had a vivid imagination, and it ran away with him. _Good._ Sitting down, she tugged off a tennis shoe.

"The cliff…"

"The beach broke my fall and I managed to put enough distance between Andrews and I that he couldn't get a clean shot." The second shoe fell to the floor, then she stood and stripped out of her suit jacket.

"Clean shot…" He rubbed the back of his neck, distressed. "Laura—" Dropping the jacket on the seat of the chair, she reached behind herself, and slid down the zipper on her skirt before holding her hand up, palm facing him.

"We'll talk about it later," she informed him, firmly. "Right now, I need your help getting into this dress if we want to get this show on the road." He did a double take as her skirt fell to the floor. "Is Becker here?" His tongue flicked against his lips as her hands skimmed down the front of her blouse, leaving buttons loose in their wake. "Mr. Steele?" She feigned ignorance of what had garnered his attention.

"Uh…" his brain sputtered as she removed her blouse and dropped it on the chair "Yes, and is sufficiently dazzled by the story of our undying devotion, I believe." She pretended not to notice his open, hungry stare. In the years of their association, he seen her any number of times donned in nothing more than a teddy or slip, and in each instance his normally suave affect had been shaken. Now, was no different. That morning she'd selected a strapless lily-white concoction of lace and silk that hugged her body like a glove and left her shoulders bare to complement the gown she'd be wearing for this horse and pony show. Coupled with a pair of thigh high stockings – torn or not – the entire get up made his head spin, his pulse race and an impertinent piece of his anatomy stand at attention. _Take a good look, Mr. Steele, because as it stands right now, your fantasies will be your only company for some time to come._ Turning her back to him, propped her foot on a chair then bent over and slowly rolled a stocking down her leg.

"What did she ask?" She smirked as he shifted restlessly behind her and made a display of dropping the first stocking on the floor, before propping up the next leg and slowly drawing her legs up the limb. Behind her, Remington nearly swallowed his tongue.

"Much what you anticipated," he answered, amazed he'd managed that much. Wedging a finger beneath his collar, he tugged at it. The room was uncomfortably warm, in his estimation, and he tore his eyes from Laura's figure long enough to look around the room for a thermostat to turn down.

"Specifics, Mr. Steele," she prodded, as she strolled across the room, adding an extra twitch to her hips for his benefit. Fishing in her duffel she removed a pair of new, white silk stockings, then sat down and eased her leg in the first. It was too much for a man whose fantasies had long revolved around the woman putting on the show.

"Perhaps, in the interest of speeding things along, I should…" he indicated the door with his hand "…um, make sure our actors are in—"

"I need help with my dress," she reminded him, dropping her head to conceal her smile. He looked with some desperation towards the door.

"I really should make certain Ms. Becker is—"

"What's your problem?" she snapped while feigning a scowl in his direction. He held up a hand indicating she'd hear nothing further from him on the matter. What was his problem? His eyes fastened on the leg on which she was currently skimming a stocking up. How he longed to be that scrap of silk, caressing her flesh. He knew some relief when she stood to retrieve her gown from the garment bag. "What did Becker ask?" she repeated.

"Nothing more than the expected. How long have we known one another, how long have we been… dating." A real smile lifted her lips, amused by the descriptor she herself would never apply to them. Stepping into the gown, she raised it and slipped it over her arms, before looking back over her shoulder at him. Despite the blades of grass and twigs protruding from her tousled hair and the gown not doing her justice with all its frippery, she was utterly beguiling, he assessed. "Can you give me a hand with the buttons?"

"Of course," he agreed without thought. He followed her as she carried the duffel across the room, sitting it on top of a sofa table positioned under the only mirror in the room.

"That's all she asked?" Laura wondered, as she rooted through the bag, dropping an assortment of cosmetics on the tabletop.

"Good Lord," Remington exclaimed, as he eyed the two-and-a-half dozen cloth covered buttons and their corresponding loops, "Has the modiste never heard of a zipper? I pity the bloke who has to get his bride out this contraption on their wedding night, he'd be driven mad."

"Or it would heighten the anticipation," she suggested, off-handedly, as she dabbed a small amount of foundation onto a sponge. A crooked smile quickly lifted his lips.

"Perhaps we should discover the answer to that quandary ourselves this evening, eh?" he suggested with a waggle of his brows. She cast a sour look at his reflection.

"Sorry, Mr. Steele. This bride will be turning back into a private detective within the hour. We have a case that needs our attention, if you'll recall." As if he could forget.

"The last movie we saw together and when and where we last dined out," he answered her prior question.

"Four questions and you had her eating of your hand?" she wondered, with a tilt of her head. He flashed her a quick smile.

"It's not the quantity that matters, but the quality of the delivery." She frowned.

"What aren't you telling me?" she asked. His eyes flickered up to meet hers in the mirror.

"Keyes's arrival may have shortened the scope of her interview," he admitted reluctantly. He found his hands empty when she turned to face him.

"Keyes?! What is he doing here?!" she protested. Cupping her shoulders, he turned her back around, his fingers addressing the buttons while he looked at her in the mirror's reflection.

"Hoping for a front seat when I'm stood up at the altar, it would seem," he replied, frustration tinging his voice. "Such dedication might be admired if he weren't such a buggering nuisance."

"We never should have taken that contract with Vigilance," she proclaimed with vitriol. "Even if we pull this off, he's going to do whatever he can to prove this marriage is a fraud, and if that doesn't work he'll just keep digging!"

Remington held his tongue. He'd argued vociferously against taking the contract from the start, their two prior encounters with Keyes having left a bad taste in his mouth. Laura, however, hadn't been able to see past what it would do for the Agency's bottom line. But to say as much now, would almost guarantee he'd find himself alone at that altar.

Slipping the final button through its loop, he stepped back to inspect his handiwork.

"Done," he pronounced, "Now, for the coup de gras…" He reached into his pocket and withdrew a jeweler's box. "One of the keys to a successful con is dressing the part."

"You should know…" she muttered beneath her breath.

"Lau-ra," he rejoined, a reminder of their agreement moving ahead meant leaving the past – more specifically his past – behind. She held up a hand in apology.

"Sorry." With a nod of acceptance, he opened the hinged-back lid, lifted a ring from its velvet bed and held it aloft.

"A proper betrothal ring reflecting my tastes and befitting a woman of your class and style, to start." Laura bopped herself in the forehead.

"I can't believe I forgot the rings!" she lamented.

"I'm under the impression our Ms. Becker is the sentimental sort," he noted, as he slipped the ring onto her left hand, "No need to inspire questions because over a symbolic piece of ornamentation, hmmm?"

"Well, this ring will certainly make an impression," she complimented. Raising her hand, she examined the piece of jewelry using the critical eye she'd begun forming, thanks to his tutelage. The Art Deco, European cut step ring featured an intricate, platinum setting with a center diamond and six smaller diamonds. "I'm afraid to ask how much this set the Agency back." Her focus on the ring, she missed the twitch of his jaw.

"You know better," he scolded, taking care to keep his tone light. "I'll need to hang on to this for a bit." He dropped the jeweler's box back into his pocket, then with a pair of fingers beneath her chin, tipped up her face and looked down on him intently. "And Laura, we _will_ pull this off." Leaning forward, he touched his lips to her forehead. "How could we not?"

His breath heated her skin when he spoke, and then, in the blink of an eye, she was watching the door close behind him, leaving her holding a box in her hand and wondering what he'd meant by the last.


	23. Scene 23

Scene 23

Laura was resplendent in all white; Remington the portrait of refinement in his tux. A distinguished looking elderly couple sat in the front pew, clasping hands and beaming as they played witness to the ceremony. Elaine Becker, handkerchief clutched in a hand, sighed and dabbed at her eyes when not silencing Keyes's frequent outbursts.

Laura had taken a few minutes to gather herself under the guise of doing her hair. Releasing her hair from the confines of the French braid, she used everything she had at her disposal to tease and scrunch the natural curl back into her hair, a departure from daily efforts to tame those very same locks. And as she spritzed, sprayed, dried, gelled and scrunched, she dug deep within herself to find a little of the Laura she used to be – the girl who'd once perpetually thrown caution to the wind, be damned the consequences.

Before, of course, she'd learned the price for those 'terminal flights of frivolity' was far too high.

It wasn't until she'd stepped, in all her finery, to stand at the top of the aisle that would lead to her Mr. Steele, that her nerves fully settled. Remington, head turned towards the pulpit while awaiting her appearance, avidly gnawed at a thumbnail – something he did only when most anxious. Her eyes moved beyond him to the person he was speaking with, and the corners of her mouth quirked with amusement, for there, flocked in ministerial robes was not Weasel – as threatened – but Monroe. Monroe with his honey smooth voice, mellifluous diction and cultured airs - qualities that would only lend credibility to the role he'd agreed to play.

Remington had been toying with her. She should have known, she acknowledged with a puff of laughter and a nod of her head. Even under a circumstance as serious as this, he had done his best to start things out on a light note.

"It ain't too late to turn back, Holt," Keyes shouted, upon spotting her.

Remington's head swiveled around. His tongue flicked against his lips and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet has his eyes trailed over her face, trying to assess where her mind was at: Would she back out at the last minute or see it through? Then he watched as her brows lifted, her chin tipped up, shoulders squared… and she smiled at him with daring glimmering her eyes.

He'd never been more relieved… or more proud.

Despite their concerns and hesitations, they worked fluidly together at the altar, interjecting the ceremony with just enough of a glimpse into their personal relationship that their easy camaraderie and genuine fondness for one another shone through. By the time they arrived at the exchange of rings, they had so convincingly played the part of bride and groom that they had Becker eating out of their hands…

One might even dare to say too convincingly.

She found herself getting caught up in their charade, when he took her left hand in his…

"With this ring I thee wed and pledge thee my troth," Remington repeated the words after Monroe, while slipping the wedding band on her finger, then moving the engagement ring to rest atop it.

She blinked down at the rings, a bit dazed. Worn a wedding band many times in the past she may have done, but she discovered that same ring could take on an infinitely more intimate meaning when someone else placed it there. It was an intimacy with him she realized that she desperately wanted… and that thought scared the hell out of her.

"Aw, come on! They're as phony as a pair of three dollar bills!" Keyes bellowed yet another protest.

Laura jerked her head up, for the first time in memory thankful for Keyes's obnoxious presence as his bellicose protest cleared away any fanciful thoughts and reminded her of the real reason they were there: It was nothing more than a con.

"Laura…" Monroe prodded quietly. She gave him a quick, apologetic smile, then took Remington's hand in hers.

"With this ring I thee wed and pledge thee my troth," she repeated as she eased the ring past his knuckle and settled it at the base of his finger. The slight tremor in his hand, left her lifting her eyes and cocking her head to study him. Had he found the experience equally as unsettling? The waggle of his brows was answered with a roll of her eyes.

"And now," Monroe spoke, "We must ask if there is anyone present who knows why these two should not be wed, let them speak now or-"

"You'd better believe it, buster!"

All heads turned towards the door of the church….


	24. Scene 24

Scene 24

Mildred barreled down the aisle with purpose, as angry as Laura and Remington had ever seen her. Laura's shoulders slumped and he drew a hand over his mouth while exchanging a glance with Laura. Her returning look had questioned why they should expect anything else?

* * *

 _ **Remington and Laura are kissing in his office when Mildred walks in.**_

" _ **Oops."**_

* * *

 _ **In his office at the Agency, Remington holds Laura in a tight embrace as they share kisses. The door to his office opens and Mildred steps inside, delighted she's caught them in a clinch, but she apologizes nonetheless.**_

" _ **I knew I should have buzzed."**_

* * *

 _ **Remington and Laura are kissing in her loft when the phone rings.**_

" _ **Hello?... Oh, hello, Mildred."**_

* * *

 _ **Remington and Laura are dancing in his living room, exchanging kisses when the doorbell rings.**_

" _ **Don't answer it."**_

 _ **The push on the bell persists, and, exasperated, he leaves Laura to open the door.**_

" _ **Mildred!"**_

" _ **Your phone's out of order."**_

" _ **For a reason, Mildred."**_

* * *

The woman had made interrupting them a second career, one she was arguably more proficient at then the first, so why would they even begin to think today would be an exception. Of course, she would! Laura went on the offensive before Mildred could blow their scam out of the water.

"Mildred! What are you _doing_ here?" she protested, passionately.

"You two are _finally_ getting hitched and you didn't invite me?" Mildred shot back, as she stomped to a stop in front of the trio at the altar and plunked her fists on her hips.

"Oh, Mildred, can't this wait?" Remington begged, glancing over his shoulder at a suspicious Keyes and curious Becker. Monroe, bless him, spoke up, trying to help.

"I assume, then, there is no true objection?" he stepped.

"No!" Laura and Remington answered in unison.

"Yes!" Mildred countered, belligerently.

"Jumping ahead a bit in the interest of time," Monroe pressed, trying to slip in those few last words that would make the ceremony official in the eyes of the INS. Mildred's eyes zeroed in on Monroe's face.

"Hey, what is—"

Laura grabbed Mildred by the crook of one elbow and Remington grabbed her by the other. Together they hauled her away from the altar while she struggled.

"Beside herself with joy!" Remington called over his shoulder towards Elaine Becker. "Just needs to collect herself." He fanned his hand in front of Mildred's face for show.

"Mildred!" Laura hissed at the same time, silencing the other woman, then speaking in a low, soothing voice, "I promise, Mr. Steele and I will explain everything later, but now is not the time!"

"Here you go, darlin', have a seat," Remington urged, handing into her a pew. "There, isn't that better?" He patted her hand reassuringly, while she looked confused. "Just a few more minutes, that's all we need. Okay?" She nodded her head slowly. "Good, good. Miss Holt?" He held out an arm to escort Laura back to the altar. They didn't make it a full two steps when Mildred popped out of her seat and grabbed his arm.

"Boss! We got big trouble!" she yelled. The sudden tug on his arm in the opposite direction made him stumble. Bracing his hand against the arm of a pew, he steadied himself.

"Mildred, I beg of you," he hunkered forward, in a plea, speaking in a near-whisper and gesticulating frantically, "Whatever it is doesn't begin to compare to the importance of Miss Holt and I finishing what we've begun here."

"What can possibly be so important?" Laura demanded to know. Mildred grabbed Remington's arm again and dragged him towards the doors, as he looked back over his shoulder towards the altar, helplessly.

"Alessandra's been shanghaied!" she told Laura with urgency.

"Shanghaied?" Laura repeated with disbelief. "How is that possible? When last we spoke you were to take her to the Agency and wait for me!"

"After I ditched Burnett's body, I went back to the office, but Alessandra was gone," she fretted.

"Mildred, please," Remington begs again, trying to free himself from her iron grip. "Please—"

"And I think I know who's got her," Laura announced with conviction, picking up her skirts and with long-legged strides, led the trio towards the exit of the church. Resigning himself to his fate, Remington looked back over his shoulder again.

"Duty calls. Matter of life or death," he called to Becker.

The threesome disappeared through the doors a the first strands of "I Love You Truly" filled the air.


	25. Scene 25

Scene 25

In Lyle Andrews office at Unidac, a terrified and tearful Alessandra sat at a conference table, and not voluntarily. The woman from personnel who'd notified the police earlier and the man from Building Facilitation joined Andrew in surrounding Alessandra while barraging her with questions.

"What do you know about Omega?" Andrews demanded, the threat implicit in his tone.

"I don't know anything about Omega!" Alessandra cried out, insistently, for the umpteenth time.

"She's lying!" the woman accused.

"Look," Alessandra appealed, desperately, "I don't know anything about anything at Unidac. I'm just a flunky, understand? A cog. A cipher. Have you read Kafka?"

Outside the facility, Laura slammed on the brakes of the Auburn pulling it to a stop and making Remington cringe as he shoved a hand against a dash to brace himself. Jumping from the car, they raced for the entrance to the building, steps ahead of a pair of security guards in hot pursuit of them.

Back in Andrew's office…

"Where's Burnett's body?" Andrews demanded to know.

"I don't know!" Alessandra repeated.

"Where's Remington Steele?" the man from building facilitation barked.

"Fellas, I don't know!" she insisted again, becoming increasingly frantic.

"I believe her," Andrews interjected, although clearly he does not. Deciding to up the ante, he removed a gun from his holster and screwed a silencer on it as Alessandra looked on, horrified. "In which case, there's no need for further discussion..."

In the corridor, Remington and Laura commandeered a golf cart. She barely had time to squeeze next to him on the seat, before the golf cart took off.

"This is part of our plan?" she shouted, hanging on tightly as the cart accelerated.

"Why walk when you can ride?" he retorted.

"Let me have the map." Grabbing it from him, she quickly unfolded it, scanning it at the same time. "I think it's straight ahead. Wait a minute!" She spread it further out, effectively blocking his line of sight.

"Laura, get the map down!" he yelled.

The warning was too late, and a split second later they crashed through the wood and smoky glass doors of the security office. As the golf cart plowed into the office, it connected with Andrew's arm, sending the gun flying across the room and out of his reach. Remington quickly secured the gun, holding it on the woman and man as Andrews fled the room. In the commotion, the pair of guards in pursuit of Laura and Remington stormed into the room behind them.

"We're from the Blue Division," Remington ordered the guards. "Project Zeta Beta Lambda, red flag, green clearance, yellow zone. Arrest these two people over here will you?" As the guards did as instructed, he commented to Laura, "There's something reassuring about bureaucracy." He glanced worriedly at his watch, each tick of the second hand taking him closer to deportation. But, Laura's head, as always, was on business.

"Let's get Andrews!" she directed, pushing him out the door in front of her. "Come on!"

"Yeah," he agreed less than enthusiastically, but gave chase to the man along with her.

Outside the Unidac compound, Andrews emerged, running towards a new construction site. Moments later, Remington and Laura appear in hot pursuit, Laura holding up the skirts to her gown, as they steadily nipping away at the distance between them and their suspect. Finally, with a running dive off a mound of dirt, Laura tackled the man, landing them both in a mud hole. Her petite stature no match for the larger man, Andrews quickly shucked her off his back, holding her face submerged beneath muddy water as she struggled. With a muttered…

"Ah, damn…"

…In reference to their wedding attire that would most assuredly be ruined, Remington jumped into the fray, hauling up Andrew's by the collar of his jacket, then landing a blow to the man's jaw. As Andrews and Steele exchanged blows, Laura struggled to her feet, the soaked gown weighing her down. Spying a nearby discarded two-by-six board, she slogged her way towards it. Grabbing it, she spun around and whacked Andrews over the back of the head, rendering the man unconscious face down in the mud. Huffing and puffing from the exertion, Remington studied the prone figure.

"I don't suppose we can leave him here, eh?" Laura actually considered the thought for a second, then with a sigh, leaned over to reach for one of the man's arms. "Didn't think so," he lamented, reaching for Andrew's other arm and helping her haul the man to dry land where they dropped him unceremoniously on the ground…


	26. Scene 26

Scene 26

A mud drenched Laura and Remington stood in the office's of Unidac Preside A.J. Drury, having just filled him in on the day's events. Drury is stunned.

"Amazing. Absolutely amazing," he murmured from where he sat behind his desk.

"Well, as far as we can piece together, Mr. Drury," Laura continued, "There is no Project Omega at all." Nearby, Remington fidgeted and paced, all too aware of the fleeting time while she appeared oblivious to it.

"No," he agreed, clearly preoccupied, "Phony rooms, phony employees, all part of a phantom division within Unidac."

"All created by Andrews and a handful of key personnel who knew how to manipulate the bureaucracy," she elaborated.

"I know my company's gotten a little top-heavy in recent years," Drury admitted, "But I never dreamed anyone could pull off something like this. And Omega is a total fake?"

"Except for the money," Laura confirmed.

"Omega was budgeted at twenty-fie million dollars," Remington furthered. "Half of that was from a government grant."

"That is what the late Mr. Burnett stumble onto," Laura revealed, swiping a strand of mud caked hair away from her mouth. "Millions of dollars being paid to people and projects he couldn't verify." Remington nodded his agreement.

"Poor sod violated the sacred rule of corporate existence," Remington observed, capturing Drury's curious attention.

"What's that?" he wondered.

"Cover your behind and don't ask questions," Remington deadpanned with a smile. "Now, if you don't mind, we've a wedding to attend to," he announced, grabbing Laura and looking at his watch again. Laura might be consumed by the case but he, on the other hand, was focused on saving his hide. Drury looked over the couple.

"Would you like to freshen up a bit first?" he offered. Laura began to accept the invitation. She might not be able to do anything about the gown, but if she could at least get some of the mud out of her hair, off her—

"Don't worry," Remington declined, "I have handi-wipes in the car." He tugged her towards the door. "Come along. Good day."

Laura could only give Drury an apologetic look over her shoulder as Remington pried her from the room.


	27. Scene 27

Scene 27

With Remington behind the wheel of the Auburn and Laura in the passenger seat, she was busily reviewing the case hoping to take his mind off the empty church they'd departed not long before. A quick walk to a payphone and a call to the office revealed Mildred was keeping the company of Elaine Becker there, but Monroe – given the hour of the day – had finally given up on bride and groom's return and thus had left to do his afternoon run to pick up deposits and receipts from the various stores to deliver them into the safekeeping of the bank. Likewise, the witnesses had vanished into the wind, rendering useless the fact only a handful of words had remained to 'legally' wed them.

"When you think about it, their plan was rather impressive," she mulled. "The grant process is neither an easy one nor a—" A third ill-timed grunt meant to imply he was interacting in the conversation drew narrowed eyes. Why would she expect him to engage now when he'd been checked out all day? "Mr. Steele?" Silence lingered. "Mr. Steele!?"

"Once I'm settled somewhere, will you visit me occasionally?" he wondered. "With these excursion fares now, you can travel practically anywhere in the world for around ninety-nine dollars."

"That's it? You're just giving up?" she asked with a mixture of stunned disbelief and anger. Giving up?! His anger simmered. He'd been trying all bloody day to take the steps required to curtail the INS's intent to deport him while she…. _she_ was consumed by a case they'd never needed to take! His temper got the better of him.

"Look," he began in a supercilious tone he knew would infuriate her, "I know you were only trying to help when you gave me that passport in the name of Remington Steele, Laura, but -" _You have got to be joking!_ He was angry with _her?_ She was the one placing her neck on the line to save him…Again!... and he was angry with her?! She saw red.

"Wait a minute!" she cut him off. "Are you implying that somehow this all is _my_ fault?"

"Don't punish yourself, Laura," he continued along in the same vein, her tone vexing him further. "I bear you no grudge." She wanted to throttle him.

"You were stranded in London! A man without a country! That passport got you back into the United States, you lousy ingrate!" The pair of fury filled brown eyes that scorched over him would normally leave him retreating, but even as some part of his mind whispered this wasn't what he wanted for what were likely their last few hours together, he forged on.

"Laura… Laura, it's very sweet of you to apologize, but there's no need. The important thing—"

"Stop this car and let me out!" she demanded, reaching for the door handle. He continued to drive,

"Why are you angry? I'm the one who's being deported!" Reaching over, she turned the key in the ignition, killing the engine. She was out of the car before the Auburn coasted to a full stop next to the curb. _Damn!_ Setting the emergency brake and removing the keys, he jumped out of the Auburn and gave chase.

"Laura! Laura, wait! Laura, please, please!" Catching up to her, he grabbed at her arm. She neatly dodged his hand and picked up her pace. "Laura, I'm sorry. Please!" This time he successfully caught her arm in his hand. She froze in place but didn't turn around. "I don't want to spend our last…" he glanced at his watch "…hour and ten minutes together arguing, do you?" With a growl, she yanked her arm free and began marching down the street. Raking a hand through his hair, he stared at her back for a couple of heartbeats before giving pursuit again.

"I'm not sure what angers me more: That you're blaming me or that you're giving up! For some cock-eyed reason I expected less from you!" The last of the comment left him utterly baffled. More he might have understood, but less?

"Less? Less, less, less what?!" he asked less than eloquently, grasping her arm again. This time she stopped and spun to face him.

"Less procrastination, less flippancy, less of everything that makes me doubt you want to stay!" she declared with passion. With iron will, she reined in her emotions, blanking her face before speaking in a carefully modulated tone. "I'm putting everything I have on the line for you. If you want to leave, the least you can do is be honest with me."

She was as surprised him to realize the thought had been lingering in the back of her mind. Embarassed, she slid her eyes away from him to stare down the street, unconsciously rubbing her arms. He, in turn, found himself mutually annoyed with himself and remorseful. _Of course_ , the current situation would make her demons rear their ugly heads. Somewhere in that magnificent mind of hers she'd be gnawing on the possibility that he wanted out, and the INS's plans to deport him had provided him with the perfect way: He'd appear as the reluctantly expelled as opposed to the eagerly departed. Drawing a hand over his mouth, he looked up and down the street then assessed they needed a bit more privacy. With a soft hand on her back, he guided her down two storefronts then directed them into a quiet alleyway where she leaned her back against the wall – her pose and the situation eerily reminiscent to a similar scene only six months before outside of the LA County jail.

* * *

 _ **"You must admit, it's the perfect double con. You make me believe you've been set up. I work to get you out of it and then once we prove you're innocent, you split with Cranston and the others and then…"**_

 _ **"And then… What?"**_

 _ **"And then you go away."**_

 _ **"I thought so. Ah, I know I've put you through a lot. Perhaps I haven't told you often enough how glad I am we're together. Well, I'm telling you now. I'm not going anywhere Laura and you better come up with something quick to get me off the hook."**_

* * *

And seeing those fears and insecurities on display - so at odds with the Laura Holt the world at large knew – he was given a stark reminder now – much as he was then – that in allowing him to know her better than perhaps anyone else on the planet, she'd also given him the power to betray her trust and injure her more deeply than the men who'd left her before.

Then, much as he'd done in front of the jail, he lifted her chin and waited until her eyes met his.

" _You know_ ," he carefully emphasized each word, while peering intently down at her, "I don't want to leave." Her chin lifted with a bit of her normal defiance.

"Well, you're the Duke of Deception. Think of something!" she challenged. He stared at her for a pair of tics of the second hand, then stood to his full height and held a splayed hand over his mouth.

'Think of something… Think of something…"


	28. Final Scene

Final Scene

Laura, person and dress still caked in mud, sat on a crate facing Estelle Becker, answering each of the questions asked, staying as close to the truth as possible to avoid a conflict with anything Remington might say.

"Why are you marrying Mr. Steele today?" Laura bestowed a smile on the other woman that she hoped passed for 'dreamy' and spoke in a soft voice. Mildred looked on eagerly, tickled that 'her kids' were finally getting hitched… even if it took this little snafu with immigration to make it happen.

"I've loved him from the first moment I met him." _Well, not really,_ she silently acknowledged with a sigh _, But it hadn't taken long._ "He has all the qualities I admire in a man: Honesty… integrity… compassion." She was startled to realize that really was how she saw him now. Still, she couldn't help having a little fun of her own, as she'd spied Remington straining to overhear what she was saying on a trio of occasions, already. "Sometimes, he seems too good to be real." She turned her head to smirk at him and said loudly enough for him to hear, "It's almost as though I invented him." His eyes narrowed, conveying his unspoken _Lau-ra_ , chastising her both for her reference to his past and for dancing a little too close to the truth with the federal agent. She gave him a smug look before returning her attention to Estelle. Leaning forward, she braced an elbow against her knee and rested her chin on her fist, reaffixing the starry-eyed look on her face. "I'd be the happiest woman alive if I could spend the rest of my life by his side." The adoring praise left Becker dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

"I think that's the most beautiful expression of love I've ever heard." Laura smiled a little wider, a little warmer, smelling triumph within their reach.

"It comes straight from the heart, Miss Becker," she vowed.

"I want to believe that," Becker assured, still dabbing at her eyes, "I want this all to work out. I want—" She shrieked when a fish flopped into her lap.

"Allow me!" Remington insisted, hurriedly taking the fish from her lap and tossing it back into the bin from whence it had come. Granted, a fishing trawling that reeked of sea weed and dead fish wasn't the most appealing of wedding venues, but those international waters only a few miles away represented his salvation – if only they'd get on with it already. Spying Keyes pulling his car into the parking lot confirmed the need to make haste towards open water. He turned to a cigar chewing Hispanic man and with a motion of his hands ordered "Okay, time to cast off!" The man stared at him with a blank look on his face. He tried again. "Vamonos, amigo!" This time the man smiled and nodded his understanding.

The boats engines roared to life and the vessel was pulling away as Keyes neared the end of the dock.

"Steele!" he bellowed. "Steele, you won't get away with this. It stinks, just like those fish! You can run but you can't hide. I'll be the last thing you see at night and the first thing you see in the morning. For better or worse, Steele, you're mine," he threatened. Remington smiled for Becker's sake.

"Incurable romantic," he commented, facetiously. "Hysterical because he can't be my best man." He held out a hand to Laura. "Shall we?" He admired the elegance of her movements as she rose, the natural grace that one might think would be overshadowed by the dirt covering her shining through. Laura, trying her hardest to find the humor in any of this, looked at Mildred.

"How do I look?" she asked with a teasing lilt in her voice. The expression on Mildred's face said Laura's appearance was absurdly at odds with what was about to take place, but she was willing to play along.

"They say all brides are beautiful," she offered. Her pithy remark earned her a wide smile, pleasing her. She settled in more comfortably on her crate, watching on eagerly as Laura and Remington linked arms where they stood before the man Remington had ordered to cast off.

"You're sure this marriage isn't even remotely legal?" she asked, sotto voiced.

"Laura, when I make a bargain, I stick to it," he assured.

"We have a valid license and a real witness now," she whispered back. "What about the captain? He'll have the authority to marry us." Despite their little dust up earlier, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to tease her.

"Mmm-hmmm," he hummed his agreement. "Absolutely correct." She promptly yanked away the arm she'd linked with his.

"Then what are we doing here?" she hissed through clenched teeth. He lifted a solitary brow.

"Juan's not the captain," he clarified. She looked doubtfully at the man currently plunking a white captain's hat on his head.

"Who is he?" she asked, suspiciously.

"He cleans fish. He's very good at it, actually." He'd watched Juan clean a half dozen fish in record time as he was negotiating a fee for the role the man was to play. He swiped at his sleeve as though flicking off a piece of lint. "Now, more importantly, how do I look?" The question was meant to lighten the mood, and her soft snort of laughter and the roll of her eyes said he'd succeeded. The question had been absurd, after all, given his mud caked hair, his dirt streaked face, and his ruined tux and shoes. Juan cleared his throat. Taking Laura's hand, he linked their arms together again.

"Amados amigos!" Juan began. Laura crinkled her nose, damning to perdition those high school Spanish classes in which the students had done little more than conjugate verbs for two years. "Estamos reunidos aquí hoy, para unir… a Rrrrrr-emington y La-ura en el sagrado matrimonio. Tu Remington, aceptas a esta mujer, por tu amada y fiel esposa, en la riqueza como la pobreza, en las buenas y las malas, hasta que la muerte los separe?" Juan was enthused by his role, gesticulating elaborately and grinning from ear-to-ear.

"Yeah, I do," Remington replied. Juan's smile faded and he stared at Remington with a puzzled look. "Oh, ah, si," he corrected and Juan's smile returned. He turned to Laura.

"Y tu, Laura, aceptas a esta hombre, por tu amado y fiel esposo, en la riqueza y la pobreza, en las buenas y las malas, hasta que la muerte los separe?" While awaiting Laura's response, Juan looked at his fellow fisherman for affirmation he was doing a good job, their nods heartening him. Next to Laura, Remington gave her a soft nudge.

"Your turn."

"Oh… Uh, sí!" she replies, the answer sounding more like a question.

"Entonces, como capitán de este barco, los declaro marido y mujer!" When Laura's brows knitted together in question, Juan added "Ahora puedes besar a la novia!" He made loud, exaggerated kissing sounds.

A corner of Remington's mouth quirked upwards. _Don't mind if I do_ … With a crooked smile, he eased Laura into his arms, drawing her close.

"I think this is where we plight our troth with a kiss."

"Then I guess we should get on with it," she replied, with a playful lift of her brows. His smile softened as his hand slid up her back to cradle her head in his palm and head his lowered. She lifted her lips to meet his.

As it always had been, sparks flew at the first glancing touch of their lips. Their lips parted, his hovering over hers, and he looked down at her through his lashes. Seeing the warmth, the quiet desire in her eyes, he drew her closer. She went willingly, pressing up on her toes and sealing her mouth to his, palming the back of his head to keep him close. The kiss, unlike the 'ceremony' before it, was not part of the charade they were perpetuating. Instead, the soft, supple caresses of her lips against his, his against hers, served to ground them, to remind them why they were here in the first place. It was about him, her… them. It was about keeping one another safe and near. It was about their friendship, their partnership, the connection that had always been between them… it was about the promise the future held, if only they could find their way there.

It was… about always being interrupted. Applause erupted, the kiss ended and they turned their heads as one. Remington watched with amusement as Laura's skin – at least that which could be seen around the dirt – pinkened. Arm still wrapped around her waist, keeping her near, he looked at his watch.

"With time to spare," he whispered. He stole another kiss, for no other reason than to fluster her a bit more. She scowled at him, and with a hand flattened against his chest, pushed him away… then groaned in dismay as something rained down around them, plinking of their heads and shoulders.

"Mil-dred," she protested, elongating the woman's name.

"What?" Mildred asked, without remorse. "It's tradition." Laura flicked a seed off her shoulder and cast a questioning look at the older woman. "Store didn't have any rice." She shrugged her shoulders. "It's bad for birds anyway, so I improvised." Her smiled widened. "Sunflower seeds." _Wonderful_ , Laura lamented. The way the day had gone so far, a flock of birds should be descending on them any second to feed. She looked skyward, giving Mildred the opening she needed to pounce. She found herself wrapped tight in the other woman's embrace. "Aw, honey, I'm so glad the two of you are finally hitched," she enthused releasing Laura and looking pointedly at Becker, who was securing Juan's signature on the wedding license, "Even if it did take the United States government to make it happen."

"Mr. Steele, if you'll sign here," Estelle Becker requested when she approached, holding out the marriage license.

The first notes of coming from accordion began to play, inspiring Laura to look at Remington with horrified eyes. Who even owns an accordion any longer – let alone hauls it along on a fishing trawler!

 _Feelings, nothing more than feelings,  
Trying to forget my feelings of love…_

"Miss Holt… I mean, Mrs. Steele," Estelle beamed, "If you'll sign here." Laura plastered a smile on her face.

 _Teardrops rolling down on my face,  
Trying to forget my feelings of love._

Mrs. Steele… Mrs. Steele… _Mrs. Steele?_ As she scribbled her name – Laura E Holt – on the license, the reality she would now be seen as 'Mrs. Steele' by some people made her head swim a little.

"Aw, Boss," Mildred crooned, seeing her opportunity to congratulate him while Laura was otherwise occupied. She reached up and pinched a cheek. He winced. "You did good." Releasing his cheek, she settled a stern look upon him and wagged a finger at him. "Don't blow it." In a way that only she could make him do, he shuffled his feet while looking a bit embarrassed by the admonishment.

 _Feelings, for all my life I'll feel it.  
I wish I've never met you, girl; you'll never come again._

"I know it's your wedding night," Becker spoke, apologetically, "But once we dock, I'll need a half hour of your time to go over the process from here forward: Interviews with each of you as well as any friends and family members we deem necessary; inspection of your residence; frequency of scheduled and unscheduled home visits – all at our discretion, of course – and what to expect during those visits. Then there is—"

Remington's heart had fallen to somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach when Becker had mentioned residence. Certainly she couldn't have meant a _shared_ —Then, with the comment on visits, which could only mean one thing, his heart had plunged to his toes and his eyes skittered to Laura's face. Her eyes rounded and her lips parted to speak, when he tugged on her hand and twirled her into his arms.

 _Feelings, wo-o-o feelings,  
Wo-o-o, feel you again in my arms._

"Can't forget the first dance, my lovely bride." Remington smiled wide for Becker, although his eyes were fully upon Laura, beseeching her to hold her tongue while a series of steps took them further away from the INS agent.

"How are we supposed to keep this up for two years?!" Laura lamented with a pained expression when they were far enough away. Remington peered down at her intently.

"By being the happiest married couple in America," he replied, in a quiet but determined voice. The response sparked her temper. Her lips tightened and she looked up at him with fire in her eyes.

"But we're not really married, you conniving con-man!" The reference to his past, the implication that she was an unwitting victim of this latest scheme, and the edge to her tone chafed.

"And that's exactly what Keyes will be trying to prove, my blushing bride," he reminded, passionately.

 _Feelings, feelings like I've never lost you  
And feelings like I'll never have you again in my heart._

"Don't you just love weddings?" Mildred asked Estelle while mopping at her eyes with a tissue as she and Becker watched the couple dance. Estelle sighed heavily.

"I just hope I can get _this_ one to stand up in my report."

"What are you talking about?! We're past the 3-mile limit! This is legal as hell!" Mildred objected passionately.

Across the bow of the boat, Remington and Laura continued to dance. Her shoulders slumped in defeat, and she leaned her forehead against Remington's shoulder.

"This is the worst day of my life!" she declared forlornly. A muscle twitched in his jaw. Was the situation ideal? Not by any stretch of the imagination. But the worst day of her life? Because she'd married him?

"Laura, how can you say that?" he inquired, with a devil-may-care attitude he didn't feel in the least. "The honeymoon hasn't even started yet." He smiled at Mildred and Estelle, feigning the delighted groom, while she bestowed on the pair a strained smile.

 _Feelings, for all my life I'll feel it.  
I wish I'd never met you, girl; you'll never come again…_

* * *

 _ **A/N: That's a wrap of the revamp of Bonds of Steele. Ready to continue on to The Steele Who Wouldn't Die?**_


End file.
